A Man of Stature
by TrudiRose
Summary: This is a sequel to my story "Just Rewards." But you don't have to read that story to read this one. It's the story of what happens to Gaston under the Enchantress' curse. COMPLETE!
1. The Curse

_Disclaimer: The "Beauty and the Beast" characters belong to Disney. But the original characters are mine! All mine! :::fiendish laugh:::_

_Special thanks to Ilene Froom for her critiquing, brainstorming, and invaluable suggestions._

_Author's note: This is a sequel to my story "Just Rewards." But if you haven't read "Just Rewards," it's fine: all you need to know is that Gaston captured the Beast to force Belle to marry him, but in the end the Beast's spell was broken, Belle got her prince, and the Enchantress put a curse on Gaston. This story is about what happens to Gaston under the curse._

_I've always been fascinated by the parallels between Gaston and the Beast. Both of them start out "spoiled, selfish and unkind." Both of them initially expect Belle to do what they say without question,and are outraged when she defies them. Most striking of all, both of them lock up Belle's father, and both are willing to free him only if Belle promises herself to them forever. Mere coincidence?_

_Of course as the movie goes on, the Beast's love for Belle brings out his inner selflessness and nobility, while Gaston's obsession with her brings out his ruthlessness and villainy. But I can't help wondering if Gaston was truly unredeemable - or if, like the Beast, he could have benefitted from an Enchantress' curse. I also think that, since Gaston's personality is very different from Beast's, his journey would follow a different path. Hence, this story._

_Okay, that was WAY too long for an Author's Note! Sorry about that - I'll shut up now! Please R and R!_

CHAPTER 1

The dwarf stumbled out the doorway of the house, clutching a golden hourglass in his hands.

He was still in shock. Only moments before, he had been tall, handsome, powerful - a state he had always taken for granted. He had been certain that the Beast would die, and that he would marry Belle. Everything was going his way, just as it always did.

But now, thanks to the Enchantress, the Beast had become a prince, and Belle would soon become a princess.

And here was Gaston: a bald, ugly dwarf.

Everything around him looked so strange. He was used to being high off the ground, in charge of all he surveyed. Now he felt small, the ground too close. In the twilight, trees and houses seemed to loom over him like menacing giants.

Even walking felt different. He was accustomed to striding confidently through the world, his long legs quickly moving him wherever he wished to go. But now his stubby limbs seemed to take forever to go a short distance. It was maddening.

His initial shock was quickly giving way to pure rage. How dare the Enchantress do this to him - to _him, _of all people? He was _Gaston!_ The celebrated hero! It was simply unthinkable.

_This has gone far enough_, he thought angrily. _That Enchantress doesn't know who she's_ _dealing with_. He would find a way to change back immediately, and then he'd deal with that traitorous witch.

She had told him how to break the spell: all he had to do was find a girl to love him. Well, that was easy enough. The village was FULL of girls who loved him. All he had to do was pick one.

He spied the blonde triplets - Bambi, Bunny and Bubbles - gossipping by the fountain. Perfect. He'd be back to his magnificent self within 30 seconds.

He set the hourglass down next to the fountain. "Bonsoir, ladies," he greeted them confidently. He flashed them a wide grin, not realizing that his perfect, pearly white teeth had been replaced by crooked yellow ones.

They stared in astonishment at the tiny dwarf before them, then burst into giggles.

He was taken aback. "It's me - Gaston!" he said, and waited for their signature swooning.

They looked puzzled. "No, it's not!" said Bambi. "Gaston is 6 foot four..."

"...with gorgeous black hair," mused Bubbles.

"...and rippling muscles," sighed Bunny dreamily. They forgot all about the little stranger, lost in thoughts of their idol.

It suddenly hit Gaston that all they saw was the ugly, puny form of the dwarf. He was so used to their adoration, it hadn't even occurred to him that they wouldn't recognize him. He felt a moment of blind panic. What would he do now? Think, think...Okay. He would explain what had happened, and then they would worship him again. Problem solved.

"I know you're confused," he said reassuringly. "But I _am _Gaston. Really. An enchantress put a spell on me. It can only be broken by true love." He smiled charmingly, or so he thought. "So, which one of you lucky ladies will kiss me, so I can turn back into myself?"

They just looked at him, then at each other. Bunny cleared her throat. "Um, I'm sorry..._Gaston,_ but we--we have to go home now. Right, girls?" She stood up quickly.

"Oh, yes," said Bambi hastily. "We have to go. Au revoir...Gaston." They hurried away, trying hard not to laugh.

But before they were quite out of earshot, they burst out giggling. Gaston could hear them whispering to each other. "Oh my God, have you ever heard anything so funny?" Bubbles said in a low tone. "'Kiss me and I'll turn into Gaston!' Does he really think any girl would fall for that?"

Bambi nodded. "Imagine kissing _that?"_ she said, shuddering. "He looks like an ugly little doll!" Her sisters tittered.

Gaston glared after them, outraged. Just this morning they had followed him around, flirting with him, practically _begging_ for his attention. Now they were laughing at him like he was a joke. Sure, he looked different. But he was still Gaston - wasn't it obvious? How could they not _know?_

_Just wait till I change back_, he thought darkly. They'd be sorry they ever insulted him.

In a vengeful mood, he stormed into the tavern and spotted LeFou at a table in the corner. He went over and grabbed LeFou's arm. "Get up," he ordered imperiously. "We've no time to lose."

But LeFou didn't jump up as usual. He shook his arm free. "Who are you?" he asked in confusion.

"Gaston," the other replied impatiently. Then, remembering the triplets' reaction, he added quickly, "A witch put a spell on me - that's why I look like this."

LeFou looked the little dwarf up and down, then grinned, taking it as a joke. "Right, you're Gaston! Under a spell! That's a good one." Still chuckling with amusement, he went back to his drink.

Gaston couldn't believe it. The impertinent little worm! He cuffed LeFou sharply on the head. "It's the truth. Now get moving, you fool!" he ordered.

LeFou's eyes narrowed. He stood up angrily, rubbing the back of his head. He was used to Gaston manhandling him - that was just how Gaston was - but there was no way LeFou was going to allow some puny little stranger to push him around. "Pretty big talk for such a little man,_" _he sneered, all affability gone. He shoved Gaston. The dwarf lost his balance and fell to the floor, knocking over a glass as he did.

The glass shattered loudly. Suddenly all the chatter in the tavern went silent as all eyes turned toward the sound.

Gaston was mortified. His cheeks burned. To be knocked down by _LeFou, _of all people! His immediate instinct was to beat the little man senseless, but it was gradually dawning on Gaston that he no longer had the upper hand here. LeFou himself was only five feet tall, but that was still four inches taller than Gaston in his current state. Gaston was horrified to realize that tiny LeFou actually towered over him. How..._wrong._

Still flat on his back on the floor, he looked up to see all the men staring at him - the men who used to admire and envy him. He'd never felt so utterly humiliated in his whole life.

"Hey, LeFou," said Francois, a burly, red-haired bearded man. "You finally found someone smaller than you!" The men laughed.

"Who _is_ that little guy?" said Claude, a skinny blonde man with one tooth sticking out. "I've never seen him before."

"He says he's _Gaston," _said LeFou sarcastically. "Says he's under a magic spell or something."

The villagers roared with laughter at that. "_Gaston? _This guy's even crazier than Maurice!" Francois snickered.

Gaston gritted his teeth. He wasn't used to being laughed at. He pushed himself up angrily. "I can prove it," he said defiantly.

Francois grinned. "Go ahead then," he dared.

Gaston confidently walked over to a long bench, grabbed one leg of it, and tried to lift it. To his surprise, it didn't budge. Yesterday he'd easily hoisted it up with one hand, and that was _with_ three girls sitting on it. He grasped it with both hands and struggled as hard as he could, but it wouldn't move. The thing was _heavy. _

Francois folded his arms. "We're waiting," he said in amusement.

Gaston cursed under his breath. Of course this tiny, pathetic body wouldn't have the power of his own mighty frame. He should have realized that. But lifting heavy objects was as natural as breathing to him - he hadn't thought about it.

He quickly tried to think of some other feat he could do that didn't require massive strength. "Get me a bow and arrows," he commanded.

The men looked at each other, raising their eyebrows. Claude shrugged and brought Gaston a bow and arrows. They all watched expectantly. This was the most entertainment the sleepy village had seen since Monsieur D'Arque had tried to drag Maurice away to the looney bin.

Gaston picked up a mug, walked to the far side of the room, and set it on a counter. "I'll hit that mug," he said with certainty, and walked back the length of the room to the opposite wall. All eyes were on him.

He hefted the bow, but found to his chagrin that it felt awkward, uncomfortable. Normally it fitted to his arm easily, and he used it as effortlessly as another limb. But this body lacked the grace and coordination he was used to. He notched the arrow and raised the bow, his eyes seeking the target. But his keen eyesight was diminished too. He could just about make out the mug from here, but it seemed distant, fuzzy. His reflexes, his balance, his unerring instinct that told him the precise moment to let the arrow fly - it was all gone.

He was shaken. What had that witch_ done_ to him?

The men were getting impatient. Gaston aimed as best he could, and released the arrow. It flew erratically through the air, then clattered to the floor, far short of the target. The tavern rocked with jeering laughter.

Francois swaggered over to Gaston. "Either you're crazy, or you think we're fools," he said belligerently. "Which is it?" He poked Gaston in the chest repeatedly for emphasis.

"Get your hands off me," hissed Gaston. He was furious. Francois would never have dared speak so insolently to him before. Gaston longed to give the lout a sound thrashing and teach him a lesson. If he'd been himself...

But he wasn't himself. And that was really the point, wasn't it?

"Make me," challenged Francois. He grabbed Gaston's shirt collar and hauled him right off the floor, his legs dangling, and taunted, "Let's see if you can _fight _like Gaston." He drew back his fist and punched Gaston in the jaw so hard the little man flew through the air, crashed into the wall and slid to the floor.

Gaston was taken aback by how much it _hurt._ Ordinarily he could shrug off a punch like that as though it were nothing. But worse than the pain was the humiliation. Francois was grinning nastily, an evil glint in his eye, and the other men were gathering around eagerly. Normally Gaston could have mopped the floor with the lot of them, but not now. He realized uneasily that things could get very ugly, very fast.

LeFou said gleefully, "Boy, just wait till Gaston hears that you've been going around saying you're him. You'll be in _real _trouble then!"

That got Francois' attention. "Yeah, where _is _Gaston, anyway? He should be in on this," he said, looking around.

At that moment, the tavern door flew open, and a villager named Pierre burst in, wild-eyed. "Guys, we've got trouble!" he said in a panicked voice. He drew a shaky breath. "The Beast has escaped!"

There was a collective gasp. "What do you mean, escaped?" demanded Francois.

"I stopped by Gaston's house to remind him about the card game tonight," Pierre explained anxiously. "The door was wide open. I didn't see him, so I went downstairs to see if he was with the Beast. The cage was open, and the Beast was _gone_! And I couldn't find Gaston!"

The villagers exchanged terrified looks. They still believed the Beast was a murderous monster, just as Gaston had told them. "Did - did the Beast kill Gaston?" asked LeFou fearfully.

"I don't know," Pierre answered worriedly. "There was no blood, and no sign of a fight. The place was just...empty."

"The Beast must have escaped, and Gaston went after it!" said Francois decisively. "Hurry, men! We have to track them down!"

There was a flurry of activity as the men grabbed their swords, arrows and other weapons and raced out to search the woods. The dwarf was forgotten in all the commotion.


	2. Reflection

CHAPTER 2

Gaston picked himself up slowly, rubbing his throbbing jaw. Still reeling from the humiliation, but relieved at his lucky escape, he went outside and retrieved the magic hourglass.

He thought quickly. He _must_ find the Enchantress and somehow force her to change him back. She must not be at his house anymore, or Pierre would have seen her. But there had to be another way to find her.

His head snapped up. Of course - the magic mirror! It could show him where she was. Feeling triumphant, Gaston ran back to his house, hurried down the stairs, and went to the table where he had kept the mirror.

But it was gone. His heart sank. The Enchantress must have taken it with her, or else Belle and the Prince had. Either way, the mirror was nowhere to be found.

No way of finding the witch, then. Gaston felt a rising wave of panic, but forced it down. He would _not_ be defeated this easily.

One thing was clear: he had to leave town. He couldn't bear to stay here where everyone had known him as the mighty hunter and hero. He had to go elsewhere, where he could stay anonymous until he could break the curse.

And break it he would. No one got the best of Gaston. Not even a traitorous Enchantress.

He located the big rucksack he used for overnight hunting trips. He put the hourglass in first. Then he added whatever food was in the house, and filled some skins with water. He took his life's savings, putting the bags of gold in the rucksack and some money into his jacket. Then he went through the house, looking for anything else that might prove useful in his travels.

He paused at his weapons chest. He realized with a pang that most of its contents were useless to him now. He touched his sword, which had served him so well on so many occasions, and the bow and arrows that had brought him such fame. Now the sword was too heavy for him to even lift, and he couldn't see or aim well enough to use the bow. No strength, no skills, no gorgeous looks...The Enchantress had robbed him of everything that made him who he was.

_No._ He shook his head fiercely. He was still Gaston, and he would always win in the end, and get revenge on all who had wronged him. Enough pointless thinking. He was a man of action, and it was time to act.

He noticed his hunting knife in the chest, and slipped it into his belt. It was small enough for him to use. He could also use his rifle to defend himself at close range, he decided, even if his impressive long-range shots were a thing of the past.

Closing the rucksack, he left the house and went to saddle up his horse - a spirited black stallion named Tristan, the fastest steed in the county. But as he approached the stall, the horse backed away. When Gaston reached out to touch him, he reared, whinnying shrilly.

His horse didn't know him. The realization stung. He had broken the fiery-tempered stallion himself. No other man could ride him, only Gaston. But now Tristan eyed him with distrust, as though he were a stranger.

Reluctantly, Gaston backed off. He knew that in this tiny, weak body, he would never be able to control the powerful horse. It was just one more thing that had been taken from him, he thought bitterly.

He would have to walk. Resolutely, he shouldered the rucksack. He took one last look at the house that had been his home for his entire life.

Then he slipped unnoticed into the night.

He walked for hours, avoiding the tiny villages that clustered around his home town of Molyneaux. He wanted to get far away from anyone who knew him. It was slow going - the pack was heavy, and this body clearly wasn't made for long walking. It frustrated him. By midnight, he was exhausted and his leg throbbed painfully. He knew he would have to stop.

He was approaching Clermont-Ferrand, a large town. Gaston knew it well; he went there once or twice a year to pick up supplies. He was somewhat well-known there, but nowhere near the celebrity he was in Molyneaux and the surrounding villages. It would do.

The wide cobblestone streets were deserted at this time of night, for which he was grateful. The elderly innkeeper was irritable at being awakened, but a few gold coins mollified him. He showed Gaston to a sparsely-furnished room, containing only a bed and a dresser with a washbasin. A small mirror hung above the dresser. Gaston closed the door with relief.

He was weary, and wanted nothing more than sleep. But he had to think, to plan. He _must _find a way to outwit the Enchantress.

If she _had_ to curse him, she could at least have given him the same curse as the prince, he thought bitterly. As a Beast, he would have been powerful and fearsome. He could have threatened the Enchantress with his deadly claws to make her change him back, or forced all the villages of the kingdom to send their girls to him until he found the one who could break the spell.

He paced restlessly, trying to scheme. As he passed the dresser, he suddenly caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He stopped cold, horrified at the sight. He had seen himself only briefly when the Enchantress put the spell on him. Now he stared long and hard at the repulsive image, taking in every detail: the bald head, the big hooked nose, the mottled skin, the craggy yellow teeth, the small frail body and stubby limbs. Could this horrid, feeble creature really be _him? _The flawless, magnificent Gaston?

With sudden fury, he slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering the hated reflection to pieces. His hand was bleeding from the broken glass, but he didn't even notice. He was too shaken by the sight of the wretched, pathetic thing he had become. What if he had to _stay _like this? The terrifying thought chilled him to the very bone.

He couldn't deal with it. He focused instead on what he would do to the Enchantress if he ever found her. He scowled darkly, remembering how she had lied to him and tricked him. She had told him she would use her magic to make Belle fall madly in love with him. But at the last moment - with victory so close he could taste it - the two-faced witch had betrayed him, calling him selfish and conceited and saying he needed to learn a lesson. She'd done this terrible thing to him, while that vile Beast got to turn into a prince and ride off with Belle - _his _Belle!

Belle. It all came back to _her._ Gaston's fists clenched. All he had wanted was to marry her. What was wrong with that? Any other girl would have been _thrilled _by his proposal. But not Belle. He had gone through so much effort and trouble to win her - and in return, she had ruined his life. He pictured her in her shining castle with her handsome prince, rejoicing over their happy fairy-tale ending. While Gaston sat here, an outcast, trapped in this hideous form, unable to return to the home where he had been idolized. He seethed with resentment.

They would pay for this, he vowed. Somehow, he would triumph over this curse, and make them regret what they'd done to him.

Imagining vengeful scenarios, he finally drifted into an exhausted, uneasy sleep. In his dreams, he was a terrifying Beast, and Belle, the prince, and the Enchantress all cowered before his ferocious might.


	3. First Morning

CHAPTER 3

When he awoke, Gaston kept his eyes closed for a long time. Truth be told, he was afraid to open them. As long as he lay there with his eyes closed, he could believe that the horrific event of the night before was no more than a bad dream, and that he would open his eyes to his own familiar walls. He would be himself, with his devastatingly handsome looks and his Herculean strength.

And if that were the case, he would avoid Belle like the plague.

But he couldn't stay in bed forever. He finally opened his eyes, and his heart sank as he saw the room of the inn. He looked down at himself, at his feeble and undersize body. It was true, then. This nightmare was really happening.

Somehow it seemed much worse today. The night before, he had still been in shock, and running on pure adrenaline. But today, with the sun shining into the room, everything seemed so much more REAL. This was truly it. This was his body for the time being.

_Maybe forever, _a voice whispered in his mind. The very thought made him bolt upright in horror.

"NO!" he shouted aloud to the empty room. There was simply no way he was going to go through life as a puny little freak. He couldn't even consider the possibility. He _always _triumphed in the end, and this time would be no different.

Besides, he told himself, if that horrible, monstrous Beast could get a girl to love him and end his curse, certainly Gaston could do the same easily. He just needed a plan.

His brow furrowed. All right. He had to get a girl to fall in love with him. And judging from the triplets' reaction to his new appearance, it might take a bit longer than he had expected. He would have to approach as many girls as he could, and possibly even travel to different towns, to find the one who would end the curse.

He was filled with dread at the thought of being stuck in this form for days, or even weeks, while he searched for the right girl. If only he still had the magic mirror! He could have asked it to show him a girl who could love him in this form. And then, a map with directions to her house.

He wondered why the Beast had never thought of doing that. Probably too busy brooding and moping in that castle of his. Honestly, how stupid had that guy been? He _knew_ that the only way to break the spell was to find a girl to love him. So what did he do? Locked himself away in his castle, thus guaranteeing that he would never meet _any_ girl, ever. What an idiot.

Well, that wasn't Gaston's style. If he needed to find a girl, he would simply go out and find her. Whatever it took to get his life back.

Okay. So he would go out and talk to every girl he could find until he found the right one. But how could he make himself attractive to them? He grimaced at the thought that _he, _of all men, should ever have to ask that question. Yesterday, it would have seemed ridiculous.

Well, for one thing, he would need some new clothes, he thought, looking down at himself. He was still in the same outfit he'd worn yesterday. The clothes had magically shrunk with him when he was cursed, but he would certainly need more than one outfit. It obviously didn't come close to solving all his problems, but at least it was a place to start.

So, first order of business: he would go out, find a tailor and order some new clothes.

It was a relief to take a break from all this thinking and have something physical to actually _do. _He went down the stairs and outside into the sunny day.

It was a bright Wednesday morning. The cobblestone streets were full of carriages and people. Clermont-Ferrand was much larger and more well-to-do than his tiny village of Molyneaux. Well-dressed men and women chatted in a leisurely way or hurried along to the large, prosperous-looking shops. Gaston set off, looking for a tailor.

As he walked, he was uncomfortably aware of people staring at him. He heard whispers and giggles, and many were even rude enough to point openly.

A little boy blurted, "Mama, look at that funny little man!" His mother replied hastily, "That's a dwarf, honey. Don't stare." But her own eyes never left his face.

Gaston grimaced. He had always loved being the center of attention, but not like this. He'd enjoyed striding boldly into a room and immediately seeing all eyes turn to him with admiration and awe, or walking down the street and hearing all the girls sigh longingly as he passed. How different it felt now. The stares held pity and derision, and the sighs were replaced by snickering.

Three youths lounging on a corner whooped and catcalled when they saw him. "Look, a leprechaun!" joked one. "Hey, where's your pot of gold?" The others laughed.

Gaston's cheeks burned in mortification. It took every bit of willpower he had to walk on without reacting. Every fiber of his being urged him to whirl around and demand an apology, but he forced himself to stay silent, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. He was no coward, and it galled him to let an insult go unchallenged. But he knew that in this feeble body, it would be foolish to get into a fight. Even LeFou could beat him now, he remembered with disgust.

It was appalling to feel so powerless. He mentally cursed the Enchantress. He knew this was exactly what she wanted. She had said he needed to learn...what was that word? Humility?

_Well, too bad_, he thought defiantly. This weak, pathetic form wasn't him. It was just her trickery. He _knew_ who he was: Gaston, the handsomest, the strongest, the greatest hunter in the world. No witch's magic could ever change that.

His eye fell on a woman nearby gawking at him. He glared at her, meeting her eyes, and she hastily looked away. He continued on his way proudly, his head held as high as he could, trying his best to ignore the stares and whispers. It wasn't easy. But curse or no curse, he wasn't going to slink away in shame or hide in the shadows.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached his destination: _Monsieur DeFarge, Tailor. _Gaston pushed open the door and went in.

The bored old man behind the counter looked up, and looked startled at the sight of the dwarf. But he recovered quickly and merely asked politely, "May I help you?"

"I need some clothes," Gaston commanded imperiously. "Two outfits. In the finest cloth you have. And I want them by Friday."

"Friday?" The tailor chuckled. "I'm sorry, sir, but that's simply not possible."

Gaston reached into his jacket and dropped a handful of gold pieces on the counter. The tailor's eyes widened. "Friday, or I take my business elsewhere," threatened Gaston.

"Of course, sir," said the tailor quickly. He hadn't realized that this odd-looking character had so much cash at his disposal.

_That's more like it, _Gaston thought smugly.

The tailor took his measurements. He brought out some fabrics in subdued colors: gray, black, brown. "Will these do, monsieur?"

Gaston wrinkled his nose. "No." He pushed aside the drab fabrics and reached for his customary bold tones of red, yellow, and orange. "These," he said with satisfaction.

The tailor was surprised. "Are you sure?" he said doubtfully. "They're a bit...bright, aren't they?" He had assumed that someone so freakish looking would want to blend in as much as possible, and avoid attracting attention.

"That's what I want," Gaston said firmly.

"Very good, sir," said the tailor with a shrug.

Feeling a bit better, Gaston walked out of the shop. It was time to start looking for the girl who could change him back. In fact, he would probably find her today, and be back to his real life by nightfall, he told himself. He likely wouldn't even need the new clothes after all.

He spotted a pretty girl sweeping the porch in front of the bakery. Her dark brown hair and eyes reminded him of Belle. He went over to her. "Good morning, mademoiselle," he said charmingly.

She looked up, did a double take, then smiled politely. "Bonjour, monsieur. What do you need today? Bread, rolls, baguettes perhaps?"

"No, actually, I'm interested in _you," _he said flirtatiously. He imagined how the blonde triplets would have swooned if he had ever spoken so to them. "Would you like to take a stroll with me?"

Her smile froze, and her eyes darted to the side, as though seeking escape. "Um...thank you, sir, but I have to work," she said quickly. "And then...I don't think..." She floundered.

A big man with a moustache came out onto the porch. "Claire, aren't you finished sweeping yet? It's time for the bread to come out of the oven, and I'm busy with customers."

"Yes, Papa," she said with relief, and rushed into the shop.

The baker turned to Gaston. "May I help you, sir?"

"No, that's all right," said Gaston quickly, moving away.

All right, that hadn't worked. But there were plenty of other girls in town, he told himself. Surely _one _of them would be interested in him.

He next approached a blonde girl washing clothes in the fountain. "You look lovely today," he complimented her. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

She looked at him in disbelief, then burst out laughing. "No, I don't think so!" she said, shaking her head in amusement.

It went on like that. Gaston approached no fewer than 20 girls, but couldn't get a spark of interest from any of them.

Overcome with frustration, he returned to the inn. He had never imagined that it could take so much _work_ simply to get a girl's attention! It had always been so easy before - all he'd had to do was gaze at a girl with his baby blue eyes, or flash her his dazzling smile, and she'd melt into a puddle.

But now, it seemed impossible. How could he get a girl to love him if he couldn't even get one to _talk _to him?

There _had_ to be a way. He tried to think. What did girls find attractive in a man? Well, good looks and impressive strength of course - he knew that all too well. But not _all _men were strong or handsome. What else did girls like?

Suddenly the answer hit him, and he smiled in triumph. _Rich _men! Girls liked jewelry and dresses and pretty trinkets. He still had two bags of gold in his rucksack. He could use that money to impress a girl - wine and dine her and shower her with presents and jewelry to win her love. He was sure it would work.

He opened the rucksack and put one bag of gold in his jacket. He took the other bag of gold, put about 20 pieces back in the rucksack in case he needed them later, and put the remainder of the bag in his jacket with the first. Then he headed back to the center of town. He found a jewelry store and went in.

He saw a number of townspeople stop and stare in amazement through the big glass storefront window as he dumped the two big bags of gold onto the counter and proceeded to put ruby bracelets, diamond necklaces, emerald earrings, and much, much more into his bag.

Gaston grinned at the astonished looks on their faces. _Now _they would know he wasn't just some pathetic freak to be laughed at, he thought triumphantly. He was successful and important, a man to be reckoned with.

And that, he realized, was the key to ending his curse.

He made a point of picking up each glittering item and holding it up ostentatiously, as though examining it, letting the bystanders get a good look. He could see them whispering to each other and pointing at the lavish jewelry. Gaston smiled in satisfaction. He knew how gossip worked. Within 20 minutes the whole town would be buzzing about the incredibly wealthy man who had breezed in and bought out nearly the entire jewelry store.

Feeling smug, he left the store with a king's ransom of jewelry. He hefted the bag with satisfaction. _This _would certainly grab a girl's attention fast, he thought.

He looked around for a likely girl. But after all his hours of trying to talk to girls, then thinking and planning, then buying the jewelry, it was already starting to grow dark. People were closing up shop and hurrying home for dinner. His plan would have to wait till tomorrow.

_Even better_, he thought. Let them all spend the evening talking about this mysterious, fabulously rich stranger. By tomorrow morning, the girls would be lining up at his door, _begging _for his attention. Everyone in town would be trying to introduce him to their daughters and sisters. He would have his pick of girls to choose from.

With success so close at hand, he could survive being a dwarf for one more day. He would go back to the inn, have an excellent dinner, get a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow, choose a girl to shower with jewelry and break the spell. He'd be back to his own glorious self soon enough, he thought.

He headed down an alleyway between two shops on his way back to the inn, feeling cheerful, his mind on his upcoming victory. By tomorrow night, this would all be over and he'd be back at home where he belonged.

A dark shadow fell over him. He looked up to see two rough-looking men barring his way. One had brown hair, the other red. "Well, well, look what we have here," said the red-haired one. "Looks like you've got quite a treasure there."

Gaston realized with a jolt that they must have followed him from the jewelry store. He cursed himself for not being more vigilant. When buying the jewelry, he had enjoyed showing off, as he always did. Normally, he was so powerful and intimidating that no robber would ever be foolish enough to attack him. But in this small, vulnerable form, he should have been more careful.

Too late now.

"We'll just have that bag now, if you please," said the red-haired robber. "Hand it over."

Gaston lifted his chin defiantly. "Never," he said firmly.

The two robbers laughed. "A feisty one, eh? Fine, then we'll just _take _it." The red-haired robber reached out for the bag.

Gaston thought fast. As the robber was about to grab the bag, Gaston yanked his hunting knife out of his belt and slashed at his hand, drawing blood. The robber cried out in surprise and pain, holding his injured hand. He glared murderously at Gaston. "I'll kill you for that!" he threatened.

Gaston turned and ran the other way down the alley, but the brown-haired robber was faster. He leaped in front of Gaston, blocking his way, and quickly grabbed his wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. Then he twisted Gaston's arms behind his back. Gaston struggled as hard as he could, but the robber had him in a viselike grip. "I've got him, Luc!" he called. "Get the bag!"

There was nothing Gaston could do as Luc, grinning, snatched the bag of jewelry from him and put it in his jacket. Gaston squirmed, trying to break free, but to no avail. He had never felt so helpless.

Luc came closer, so close Gaston could smell the alcohol on his breath. He held up his injured hand. "I owe you for this, runt," he said menacingly. He drove his other fist into Gaston's stomach, and Gaston doubled over in agony. Luc pummeled Gaston mercilessly, while the other man held him.

It felt to Gaston as though the beating went on forever. He wasn't struggling anymore. Weakened by pain, he hung limp in the robber's unrelenting grip, as the the punishing blows slammed into his unresisting body like sledgehammers.

Then Luc suddenly noticed the knife on the ground. He snatched it up, grinning wickedly. "Not so tough now, are you?" he taunted. He brandished the knife menacingly right in front of Gaston's face. "Time to die, runt."

Gaston's eyes widened in fear. "No," he begged. "Please, don't."

Luc just laughed cruelly. He pressed the point of the knife to Gaston's throat.

"Hey, what's going on over there?" a voice called sharply. Gaston saw a dark figure entering the far end of the alley.

The brown-haired robber immediately shoved Gaston to the ground. "Come _on!"_ he yelled to Luc, and the two robbers took off running in the opposite direction down the alley.

The figure approached slowly. It was an old woman. She gasped when she saw Gaston, crumpled on the ground like an empty sack. "Mon Dieu! Are you all right, sir?" she asked with concern, holding out her hand.

Gaston lifted his head painfully and looked up at her. "I-I think so," he said hesitantly. He took her hand. Shakily, he tried to get up, but his legs buckled beneath him. He had to lean on the old woman's arm to walk down the alley.

He looked in the direction the robbers had run. "They robbed me," he said in disbelief. He had never imagined something like this could ever happen to _him. _He had always been invincible.

The old woman sighed. "There have been a lot of robberies in town lately," she said. "I don't know what this world is coming to."

She helped him to the constable's station, where he reported the crime, although he doubted it would do any good. Then, slowly and painfully, he limped back to the inn.

On the dresser he saw the broken shards of the mirror from the previous night. Carefully he picked up a large piece to see his reflection. He had a black eye, his lip was swollen and bleeding, and his face was bruised. _As if I didn't look bad enough before, _he thought with a grimace. He certainly wasn't going to be attracting any girls looking like this.

He collapsed onto the bed, but lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. He was aching from the bruises and lacerations, and his mind kept replaying the harrowing scene in the alley. He realized with a chill that he had come close to being killed. He had always been fearless, knowing nothing could defeat him, but tonight he had been truly scared.

It was horrible to be so vulnerable. He _had _to break this curse, and soon. He didn't think he could stand another day like this.

And that wasn't his only problem. The robbery had practically wiped out his cash. He was stuck in this weak, defenseless body, with only a few gold pieces left. How would he even manage to survive, let alone get a girl to love him and break the spell? The thought filled him with despair.

He was too tired to come up with any brilliant plan tonight. Overcome with weariness, he closed his eyes.


	4. The Plan

CHAPTER 4

Gaston awoke the next morning and was immediately flooded with memories of the night before. Overcome with despair, he groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. He was still sore and bruised, he looked terrible, he had no way of breaking the curse any time soon, and he was almost out of cash. The idea of getting up was not at all appealing.

But then he realized how he was acting, hiding under the covers like a coward, and he became furious at himself. What was he _doing? _He had been under the curse for less than two days - was he already just going to give up and let the Enchantress _win?_

_Never, _he thought defiantly. He was Gaston. Defeat was _not_ an option.

He pictured the Enchantress gloating at his sorry state, and that image alone was enough to make him leap out of bed, determined to prove her wrong. If she thought he was defeated, she had another think coming. He had never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn't about to start now.

Whatever setbacks she threw at him, he would overcome them, he vowed. One way or another, he _would _break this curse and get his life back.

And when he did change back, he would show the Enchantress what a terrible mistake she had made in betraying him.

The same went for those robbers, he thought vindictively. He knew he would never forget what they looked like. When he was back to himself again, he would track them down and make them pay for their crime.

The thought of vengeance cheered him up considerably. He turned his attention back to the problem at hand, certain he would come up with a brilliant plan.

His biggest problem right now was money. After the robbery, he had only 20 gold pieces left, and that wouldn't last him more than a couple of weeks. If he couldn't break the spell by then, he would need to find some way to earn money to live on. And if he ever expected to win a girl's love with jewelry and presents, that would take money too.

He would have to get some sort of job, he realized. But what kind of job? It couldn't be anything that required physical strength, because the Enchantress had stolen that from him. It couldn't require much education, because he didn't have that either.

He thought hard, but nothing came to mind. He left the inn and walked around the town, looking at the various establishments, hoping for an idea. Blacksmith? No, they needed to be strong. Carpenter? That required a steady hand and a keen eye, which he certainly didn't have now. Lawyer? That took years of schooling. Baker? He didn't have the slightest idea how to do that. Farmhand? They worked from sunup to sundown - it wouldn't leave him any time to search for the girl he needed. Bookseller? Gaston shuddered. _Definitely _not.

Overcome with frustration, he smacked his fist against the palm of his hand. He _hated _thinking, yet he'd already done more of it in the past two days than in his entire previous 21 years of life. His head hurt from the effort. It was so unfair - everything he wanted had always come so easily to him before. Why was everything so difficult now?

"Pots and pans, pots and pans," called a singsong voice. Gaston looked up to see a shabby peddler pushing a small cart of kitchenware. "Get your pots and pans here. Pots and pans, pots and pans."

Gaston snorted in derision. The fool wasn't going to sell anything that way. He should be bragging about his merchandise, boasting about how it was the best to be found anywhere.

Gaston stopped, the wheels turning in his head. Of course! He could be a _peddler!_ It was perfect. If there was one thing Gaston knew how to do well, it was brag and boast. And he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. After all, it had taken him less than two minutes to convince his entire village that Belle was crazy, that her "kind and gentle" Beast was really a vicious killer, and that they must storm the castle immediately. Convincing some dim housewife to buy a frying pan would be child's play.

Best of all, being a peddler would allow him to meet lots of women. First he would travel to all the large towns and cities, stocking up on whatever useful goods or luxuries they specialized in, and then he would move on to all the small villages around France to sell them. He would meet _thousands _of girls as a peddler. Surely the one he needed to find would be among them.

Of course, he would have to write down the items he bought and sold, and how much was paid for them, but he thought he could handle that. He could read and write simple words; it was only long sentences and paragraphs that gave him trouble.

And he excelled at basic addition and subtraction. A man had to know his sums to avoid being cheated. When he gathered up his winnings after a game of poker, Gaston always knew to the penny how much he was owed. When he bought a new rifle or a horse, or sold the rabbit pelts he brought home from hunting, he always drove a hard bargain. He could manage being a peddler, he was sure.

But he wouldn't just be some small-time peddler like the kitchenware salesman, Gaston told himself. Gaston never did anything halfway. Whatever he did, he had to be the best at. He would be the most successful peddler in the _world, _he decided - the most merchandise, the highest sales, the biggest profit.

And it all fit in perfectly with his plan to break the spell, he thought, congratulating himself on his resourcefulness. He would try to charm all the girls he met in his travels. With luck, he might very well find the one who could love him tomorrow, or next week. But in the meantime, he would also save all the money he earned. So even if he didn't come across a willing girl as quickly as he hoped, eventually he would have enough riches saved up to impress _any_ girl with his wealth and success. Then he'd pick a girl, shower her with jewels, win her love, and finally get back the life he deserved.

It might take a while, but either way he would triumph in the end, and that was all that mattered.

All right. He had a plan. Now he just needed something to sell. Most of his money was gone now, so he wouldn't be able to buy much stock. It irritated him: if he _had_ to be a peddler, then he wanted to be the best one _ever,_ with a wagon stuffed to the brim with all kinds of amazing things - to do this in a really big, flashy way, the way he did everything in his life. But with his lack of cash, he would have to start small.

He walked around the town square, looking at the shops, trying to think of something he could sell.

Then he noticed the same hapless kitchenware peddler still trying to make a sale. Perfect.

He went over to the man and handed him 10 gold pieces. "I'll take everything you have for this gold," he offered.

The peddler's eyes widened. The amount of gold wasn't anywhere close to what he would have earned if he had sold every one of his items to customers separately, piece by piece - but he hadn't had a sale in two days. The chance to unload all his merchandise all at once, for a lump sum, was too tempting to pass up. "You've got a deal," he said, smiling broadly. "Where shall I bring it?"

Gaston shook his head. "I'll take it right now. And the cart too," he said firmly.

The peddler hesitated. But he could see that Gaston was adamant. "Well...all right," he said, giving in.

Gaston took over the cart and brought it back to the inn.

He was eager to put his plan into action immediately, but he realized he should wait a few days for his bruises to fade. He had to make a good impression if he was going to convince people to buy things from him. So he bided his time, chafing with impatience all the while.

On Friday, he picked up his new clothes from the tailor. A few days later, he pushed the cart of kitchenware the five miles to the village of Peillon. With his lack of strength, it was hard work pushing the cart so far. He was sweating and exhausted by the time he got to the village. _As soon as I start making money, I've _got_ to get a horse and wagon, _he thought. _I can't do this every day._

He got a room at the local inn, washed up, and put on one of his new, expensive outfits. Then he pushed the cart of kitchenware into the town square.

"Pots and pans, the finest in the world!" he called. "You won't find better pots and pans at any price!"

A woman wearing a kerchief came over to him. "How much for a frying pan?"

Gaston named a price 50 percent higher than what the other peddler was selling them for.

"That seems very expensive," the woman said doubtfully.

"Quality costs money, madame. You get what you pay for," he told her, improvising smoothly. "This cookware comes all the way from Germany. The iron there is so much purer and stronger than what we have here in France. And they forge it three times over, to make it extra durable. These pots and pans will last a lifetime. You'll see, you'll be passing them down to your daughter."

He smiled at her. "But if you can't afford it, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I'm sure another peddler will come by any day now with some cheap French cookware. Of course, it will probably fall apart the second or third time you use it. But at least it won't cost you as much."

He sounded so confident, so sure of himself, that the woman was convinced. "You're right," she said. "It's worth the extra money. I'll take three pots and three pans."

"Very good, madame. You won't regret it," Gaston said, taking her money. _Well, that was easy, _he thought with satisfaction. The Enchantress might have stolen all his physical skills, but at least he was still as persuasive a liar as he ever was.

Other villagers came over, and Gaston gave them the same spiel. Within two hours, he had sold all the cookware from the cart.

He went back to the inn, feeling more cheerful than he had in days. Things were finally looking up for him.

He next travelled to Lyons, which was famous for its silk. He purchased as much as he could, then went to the small outlying villages to sell it. His gift of gab served him equally well this time.

After two months, he had saved enough money to buy a used farm wagon. Then he headed to the local stables to buy a horse to pull it.

There was a long row of stalls with horses for sale. Gaston examined them with a practiced eye. He paused wistfully at a sleek, finely-bred Arabian that tossed its head, snorted restlessly and pawed at the ground. It was just the kind of spirited steed Gaston loved to ride. But it wouldn't do for his purpose now. He needed a strong, steady horse that was bred to pull a wagon, and this wasn't it. Reluctantly, he moved on.

He chose instead a big, plodding brown draft horse named Henri. The horse had belonged to a farmer and was well accustomed to pulling a plow or a wagon.

Gaston was elated. Riding in a wagon would be so much easier than walking. And the wagon could hold much more merchandise than the little pushcart, making it easier to grow his business. He was certain that he would be wealthy in no time. Very soon, he was sure, he would be able to impress a girl with his riches and break the spell at last.

Things were finally going his way.


	5. Mishap

CHAPTER 5

The wagon jolted and bounced along the rocky dirt road, each bump knocking Gaston hard against the seat and making his teeth rattle. The nearest town, Lourmarins, was still a good 10 miles away, but he hoped to make it there by nightfall. He couldn't wait to get off the uncomfortable, rickety wagon and into a soft bed.

It started to rain. Gaston hunched forward and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The cargo area of the wagon was covered, so at least his merchandise was protected, but the driver's seat was exposed to the elements. Gaston felt as though the journey would never end.

Suddenly there was a sharp "crack!" The wagon lurched, then tilted dangerously, threatening to tip over. Gaston pulled the reins to halt the horse. He jumped down to see what was wrong.

One of the spokes on the back right wagon wheel had snapped, and the wheel hung loose at a crazy angle. Gaston swore loudly. He had absolutely no idea how to fix the damn thing. Back home, he had always travelled on foot or on horseback. And if he ever _did _ride in a wagon, it was someone _else's _wagon, and none of his concern. What on earth was he to do now?

He looked at the road up ahead. He wondered if he could ride Henri the 10 miles to Lourmarins. He doubted it. The huge draft horse was accustomed to pulling, not carrying a rider. And he had no saddle. If he'd been himself, that wouldn't be a problem. He had been an expert horseman. But in this undersized, weak and uncoordinated body, he didn't think he could keep from slipping off the big horse riding bareback.

He looked up at the cloud-obscured sun. Judging from its position, it was about 4:00. It would be dark in two hours. With his short legs, it would take him a good three or four hours to walk to the town - probably closer to four, with the rain. And the upcoming darkness would make the journey by foot even harder. He had no wish to blunder along a dark, unfamiliar road at night.

There was no help for it. He was stuck here for the night. At the first light of day, he could start walking, and get to the town by mid-morning. Then he'd have to persuade a wheelwright to leave his establishment and drive a wagon all the way back here to fix Gaston's wheel. He'd no doubt have to pay dearly for that much service, he thought glumly.

Worse, it meant leaving the wagon and its merchandise completely unprotected. Anyone could come along and rob him blind, wiping him out completely.

But he had no choice. He would have to take the risk, once morning came.

So he sat helplessly in the rain-soaked wagon as the hours passed and night fell, feeling cold and wet and very, very sorry for himself. He wondered what he would be doing right now if he were back home. No, he _knew _what he would be doing. He would be at the tavern, warm and dry, with a mug of ale in his hand, surrounded by friends. They'd be playing cards, or singing boisterous drinking songs, or telling bawdy jokes and sharing hunting stories. Or if they got drunk enough, there'd be some spur-of-the-moment contest: a bout of arm wrestling, a game of darts, a spitting match...whatever their ale- and testosterone-fueled brains could come up with.

It struck him - not for the first time - how truly _alone _he was in this new life. He was either travelling on the road by himself, like now, or peddling in the towns and villages, trying his best to ignore the now-familiar stares and occasional mockery. Of course, his customers were polite to him - they had to be. But he had no friends. He was gregarious by nature, and the isolation got to him. At home, he had usually been surrounded by buddies, admirers and hangers-on. Even when he left the village and went hunting out in the forest, there was always LeFou, his constant presence as taken for granted as Gaston's own shadow.

If LeFou were here now, he'd be prattling on, trying hard to cheer Gaston up. Gaston certainly could have used that encouragement right now. Better still, he would have sent LeFou to get help to fix the wagon. Gaston would still have been sitting here getting wet, but at least he would know that help was on the way. And it would mean that _he _didn't have to make the exhausting journey by foot in the morning. He had never realized how much he had come to depend on LeFou to do all his annoying, tedious tasks for him - until now, when he had to do everything himself.

It was true that LeFou had short legs too, so it would take him the same three or four hours to get to the town...plus you had to add another hour or two for LeFou losing his way, which was inevitable. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he was tenacious, and no matter how long it took, eventually he would have come back triumphantly, bringing aid.

Of course, when LeFou finally _did_ return, his reward for all his effort probably would have been Gaston smacking him for taking too long, he reflected with an uncharacteristic hint of contrition. He had never thought twice about the way he treated LeFou before, but after his beating in the alleyway, he had a bit more empathy for his diminutive lackey.

Gaston sighed. Would the night _never _end? He felt as though he had spent an eternity sitting alone in the rainy darkness.

Eventually, the rain stopped, and Gaston dozed off.

He was awakened by someone shaking him. "Hey, there, are you all right?" a gravelly voice asked.

Gaston opened his eyes and blinked in bright sunshine. He stretched, feeling achy from his night on the uncomfortable wagon. Standing next to the wagon, looking concerned, was a weatherbeaten farmer in his 50s, wearing overalls, with his own wagon parked alongside Gaston's.

"Looks like you've got yourself a broken wheel," the farmer said, nodding at the wagon. "Need some help?"

Gaston hesitated. He certainly _did _need help. But he had learned to be suspicious of people. He was stranded out in the middle of nowhere, with no way of fixing the wagon. That made him an easy mark, and the farmer obviously knew it.

Gaston wondered what the man's angle was. He might have some brawny sons hiding behind the trees, ready to rob the wagon when he gave the signal. Or, he might indeed fix the wheel - then charge some ridiculously exorbitant fee for his services, and Gaston would have no choice but to pay it. He hated being at someone else's mercy like that.

But he had no other option. Leaving the wagon unguarded while he walked to the next town was a much greater risk, he realized. He would probably return to discover it was gone. At least this way, he would _know _what happened, bad as it was likely to be.

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "Can you fix it?"

The farmer nodded. He examined the wheel. "There's your problem," he said, pointing. "One of the felloes is bent. It was pressing on the spoke. That's what made it snap. And it was putting too much friction on the hub and wearing it away - that's why the wheel came loose."

"Oh," said Gaston, having no idea what the man was talking about.

"First we have to take everything out of the wagon, to lighten it," said the farmer. He and Gaston spent 20 minutes doing just that. Then the farmer found a large boulder. With effort, he rolled it over to the wagon, forcing it under the back end to brace it.

Then he took a wrench and removed what was left of the hub, and took the wheel off the wagon. With some twine, he lashed together the broken pieces of the spoke until it held tight. Next he used pliers to straighten out the bent felloe.

Gaston watched him work, feeling tense as a bowstring. He kept one eye on the surrounding trees. No one jumped out to rob the wagon, so he relaxed marginally. And he could see that the farmer actually _was_ fixing the wheel.

So it was the second angle, Gaston decided. The farmer saw a chance to make easy money off Gaston's misfortune by charging an outrageous fee for the repair.

The question was, how much? Since becoming a peddler, Gaston had judiciously saved every sou he could toward the day when he could buy a girl's affections and finally end this nightmare. It would be devastating to have to hand it all over to a stranger and start from scratch.

Or worse, what if his savings weren't enough? he wondered. What if the farmer demanded the merchandise from the wagon as well?

Now he was beginning to wish he _hadn't _accepted the man's offer of help. He waited nervously as the farmer finished the repairs.

The farmer rummaged in his tool box and found a nut the right size to replace the hub. He put the wheel back on the wagon and screwed the nut tight.

He stood back to admire his handiwork. "Walk the horse a few paces, so we can see how she rolls," he said. Gaston took hold of Henri's bridle and walked the horse.

The farmer nodded in satisfaction. "That'll do ya till you get to Lourmarins. As soon as you get there, find a wheelwright and have him replace the spoke and the felloe. Then she'll be as good as new." He helped Gaston load all the merchandise back on the wagon.

Gaston took a deep breath, bracing himself. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, dreading the answer.

The farmer looked surprised. "Why, nothing, friend. Folks got to look out for each other."

Gaston was stunned into speechlessness. In all the time he had been a dwarf, no one had shown him an act of kindness. He had actually forgotten such a thing existed.

"Well...thank you," he managed to say.

"Any time," said the farmer cheerfully, tipping his hat. He got back on his wagon. Then he had a thought. "When you go to the wheelwright, make sure to buy some tools to keep on the wagon," he advised Gaston. "You don't want to get stranded again." He jiggled the reins, and his wagon started to move.

Gaston watched him go. Then, impulsively, he called out "Wait!"

The wagon stopped. "Yes?" said the farmer.

Gaston rummaged among the merchandise on his wagon. He found a silver pocket watch and brought it over to the farmer. "Here," he said, handing it over.

The farmer was startled. "That's mighty kind of you, but there's no need," he assured Gaston. He looked at the watch. "This looks expensive."

"Take it," Gaston insisted. "I would have been in real trouble if you hadn't helped me."

The farmer's creased face broke into a broad smile. "Well, thank you. That's very generous of you." He pocketed the watch. "You have a good journey, now."

"You too," said Gaston, watching him go.

_Now, why did I do that? _he wondered. It wasn't like him. The watch _was _expensive - he could have easily gotten 40 or 50 francs for it.

But it felt right, somehow.

Gaston shrugged, got back into his wagon and started off for Lourmarins.


	6. Celeste

CHAPTER 6

Four years passed slowly. Gaston continued to travel around France, peddling his wares and saving up as much money as he could. It was a tiresome routine, constantly being on the road in all kinds of weather. But he plugged on steadily, focused on his determination to end the curse and get back the life he was entitled to.

He always varied his route somewhat, always adding towns he had never visited before, in the hope that the girl he sought would be there - the one girl who would love him and break the spell. He attempted to charm all the women he met, but without success. Some turned him down politely, some were rude, but all were put off by his appearance. Still, he kept on trying in each new town.

But he never spent money on the women, although he was often tempted. It wasn't time - not yet. It was increasingly clear to him that, handicapped as he was by his freakish looks, the only way he would win a girl's love with with riches - _lots _of riches. He would have to dazzle the girl with so much wealth and luxury that she couldn't _help_ but adore him.

It was frustrating to have to bide his time for so long. He was by nature impatient and impulsive, and he was accustomed to getting his own way. It was not his style to wait calmly for years when he wanted something. But he knew that his entire future depended on this plan, and he was determined to succeed, no matter how long it took. So he lived frugally, spending as little as possible and methodically saving every sou, and each night he counted his money, waiting for the day when he would reach his goal.

Finally, after four interminable years, he judged that he had enough gold saved up to impress even a princess. Quietly, he bought a supply of jewelry - but discreetly this time, having learned his lesson. He also bought a wardrobe of expensive clothes for himself, to fit the image of a wealthy man.

On a bright summer day, he rode his horse and wagon into the town of Montpellier. He set up his cart in the marketplace, and scanned the crowd, looking for just the right girl to break the spell.

His eye fell on a gorgeous young lady looking into the window of a hat shop. She had long, thick, wavy red hair, deep green eyes with long fringed lashes, and a curvy figure. She was truly stunning - even more beautiful than Belle. She was definitely up to his high standards.

A young man was looking through the tools on Gaston's wagon. Gaston asked him in a low tone, "Who's that girl?"

The young man followed his gaze. "That's Celeste. She's really something, isn't she?"

"Does she have a beau?" Gaston asked, wanting to size up the competition.

The young man laughed. "Are you kidding? Every man in town is after her! But she's got expensive tastes, that one. It takes a lot to impress _her. _I tried to court her myself once, but I'm just an apprentice carpenter. When she heard what my income is, she lost interest fast." He shook his head ruefully. "It's going to take someone with big money to win _her _hand."

_Perfect, _thought Gaston. This Celeste sounded like exactly what he was looking for.

He closed up the wagon, brought it back to the inn, put on his most expensive outfit, and quickly returned to the center of town. He sauntered up to the redhead, still looking into shop windows. "Pardon me, mademoiselle, but I must say, you are the loveliest woman I have ever seen," he said, trying to be as charming as possible.

Celeste rolled her eyes. She had heard this so many times before. "Merci, monsieur," she said in a bored tone, without looking around.

"And yet," he continued, "I can't help but think you would look even lovelier in a pair of emerald earrings, to match your eyes."

That got her attention. She turned quickly, her eyes widening at the sight of the huge emerald earrings he held out to her. They must have cost a fortune. She looked at him more closely, taking him in. Her initial distaste at his appearance was quickly overcome by the sight of his expensive suit and diamond cufflinks. _Now _this _is more like it_, she thought. _Enough of these pathetic village boys._

But she hesitated. She didn't want to end up simply as some rich man's mistress. She had her sights set much higher than that. "Monsieur is very generous," she said, in a voice like golden honey. "But it would not be proper for me to accept such an expensive gift from a stranger."

"Forgive me," said Gaston smoothly, pocketing the earrings. Celeste watched them disappear, her eyes filled with longing. "How rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Gaston." He bowed.

She smiled. "Celeste," she said, offering her hand. He kissed it.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Perhaps you would like to join me for dinner at Chateaux des Feuillants," he suggested casually.

Celeste's eyes widened. In the 18th century, restaurants were new, and reserved exclusively for the aristocracy and the immensely wealthy. She had never imagined she would ever have the chance to dine in one. "Why...yes, monsieur," she managed to say. "That would be lovely."

At the restaurant, Celeste ordered the most expensive items on the menu. Gaston said suavely, "I do believe this is the finest chicken cordon bleu I've ever tasted," mentally congratulating himself on how sophisticated he sounded. In truth, he'd never before eaten anything as fancy as this, and he actually didn't care for it - too fussy, with too many sauces and seasonings, he thought. He was a basic meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. But he would do and say anything to impress this girl.

She asked him about his business, and he told her he was a prosperous merchant - it sounded better than "peddler."

She was intrigued. "So tell me, how did you become so successful?" she asked.

Gaston was delighted by the question. There were few things he liked more than a chance to talk about himself. Celeste seemed enthralled by every detail of his success. As he spoke, she gazed at him intently, agreed with everything he said, and hung on his every word as though he were the most fascinating man alive - everything a woman _should _do, in his view. Why couldn't Belle have been like that? he wondered. At least Celeste had the right idea.

A few days later, he took her to the opera. It was the single most boring evening of Gaston's life. Even reading a book would be better than this, he thought, waiting impatiently for it to be over. But Celeste was having a grand time - even though, he noticed, she barely glanced at the stage. Her opera glasses were trained on the audience, taking in all the beautiful dresses and fancy furs, and gleefully noting all the prominent personages in attendance. "Look, there's Lord and Lady Beauvais!" she whispered excitedly to Gaston. "And that's Monsieur Laroche - he's the mayor of Montpellier!" Gaston nodded, trying to pretend he cared.

"Thank you so much! I had a _wonderful _time!" she told him afterward.

"I did too," he replied. "But it was due to your divine company, not the opera." Mentally, he rolled his eyes. Was he laying it on too thick?

But Celeste ate it up. "You're too kind," she said, lowering her eyes demurely.

He held out a wrapped box. "Would you do me the honor of accepting this small gift?" he asked.

She opened the box and squealed with delight. It was the emerald earrings. This time, she decided it was all right to accept them. He had been courting her very respectfully, acting like a perfect gentleman, with no hint of impropriety. "Thank you!" she said happily, slipping them onto her ears. "How do they look?"

"Beautiful," he told her. "But not as beautiful as you," he added gallantly.

A week later, she invited him home to meet her parents. He braced himself for an ordeal. Celeste carried herself like a lady, and her clothes were fashionable and flattering. She even wore gloves in town. Judging from her appearance, her family was upwardly-mobile bourgeoisie. Despite his money, Gaston didn't think they'd appreciate her keeping company with a mere peddler, and a dwarf at that.

So it was a shock to find that she lived in a shabby farmhouse on a small, run-down farm. He had expected her home and family to be as elegant as she.

But he hid his surprise and politely greeted her father, a stocky man in plaid shirt and overalls, and her mother, a fussy woman in a gingham dress. He was relieved that they did not react to his stunted size - apparently Celeste had warned them in advance.

"And this is my brother, Sebastien," Celeste said, gesturing at a 12-year-old boy.

"Pleased to meet you," the boy said, looking bored.

Over lunch, Celeste's parents asked Gaston all about his business, and seemed just as impressed as their daughter had been. One obstacle gone, Gaston thought.

The food was a lot simpler than it had been in the restaurant, which was fine with Gaston. "Did you make this, Celeste?" he asked.

Sebastien snorted. "The princess, slaving over a hot stove? That'll be the day!" Celeste kicked him under the table.

Celeste's mother interjected, "Cooking and cleaning ages a girl so quickly, don't you think? Our Celeste is so delicate, you know."

Gaston was amused at the thought that these meager farmers were raising their spoiled daughter as though she were a duchess. No wonder she thought the local boys weren't good enough for her. But he nodded as though her mother had said something profound. "I completely agree with you," he said. "No wife of mine would ever have to worry about anything as common as cooking or cleaning - she'll have servants to do it for her." He saw Celeste's eyes light up, as did her mother's.

Gaston impulsively decided to make his move. He'd been waiting for four long years to end the curse, and he felt like he couldn't wait one more second. "In fact," he said, "if I may be so bold, I would like to ask for your lovely daughter's hand in marriage."

They all gasped. "Oh, Gaston!" cried Celeste. "I would _love_ to marry you!"

"Of course you have our consent," said her father, while her mother dabbed at tears in her eyes.

Celeste held out her left hand. Gaston looked at it, puzzled.

"Isn't there a ring?" she asked.

"Oh, of course!" said Gaston. "This happened so suddenly...it's back at the inn. I'll give it to you tomorrow."

"That's fine," she said, relieved.

He got up to leave, and she walked him to the door. Gaston thought quickly. "Celeste, will you come out on the porch with me for a moment?"

"Of course," she said. They stepped outside.

He took a deep breath. It was time for the most important moment of his life - the moment when Celeste would say the magic words and finally end the curse.

He felt a surge of wild excitement. After so long, it was finally happening! He would be back to his old self within the next _minute!_ At last he would return to Molyneaux in triumph. And with a bride even more gorgeous than Belle - a wife any man would envy. Celeste's beauty was certainly worthy of the great Gaston.

"Celeste," he said, leaning forward. "I love you."

She hesitated, just a fraction of a second, then smiled brightly. "I love you too." Then she bent and kissed him.

He waited for the earthshaking change, the overpowering sensation of his body reforming itself.

But it didn't happen.

Startled, he drew back from her. He looked at his hands, still small and stubby. He looked up at her - still taller than him. She was watching him with a puzzled expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, stunned. This was supposed to be_ it_ - the goal he had been working toward for four endless, intolerable years. Why hadn't it happened?

"I-I'm not feeling very well," he stammered. It was true. He felt sick to find that he was still stuck this way. "I think I need to go lie down."

She looked concerned. "All right. Come see me tomorrow. And bring the ring!" she added.

He nodded, unable to speak, and stumbled away from her, overwhelmed with disappointment and confusion. Why hadn't it worked? It _should_ have worked! He was supposed to be himself again!

He was utterly crushed. He wandered aimlessly around the town for hours, trying to understand what had gone wrong. Had the Enchantress lied? Was there really _no_ way to break the spell?

But no - it had worked for the Beast, he remembered. Belle had declared her love, and he'd turned into a prince, right before Gaston's very eyes. This was the same spell. It _had _to work for him too. So why hadn't he changed back? He couldn't understand it.

He found himself near the town square, which was surrounded by shops. He heard Celeste's voice, and looked up. She was standing in front of one of the shops, talking excitedly with her friend Marie.

Gaston was about to approach her, but some instinct made him stop. Without quite knowing why, he pressed against the outer wall of a shop where she couldn't see him, and listened.

"Well, congratulations - I guess," said Marie doubtfully. "But honestly, Celeste - how can you love a horrid little gnome like that?" She shuddered in disgust.

Gaston waited for Celeste to defend him. But she just smiled. "Who said anything about loving him?" she pointed out. "I just said I was going to _marry _him."

"But he's so ugly!" said Marie. "How can you even kiss him?"

Celeste laughed merrily, a musical sound. "He _is _gruesome, isn't he?" she giggled. "But who cares? I just close my eyes and think of all the lovely jewels and dresses he's going to buy me!"

She twirled with excitement. "Isn't it _wonderful?_ I was always afraid I'd be stuck marrying some dumb farmboy. Imagine _me,_ getting up at 5 a.m. to feed the chickens and peel potatoes?" She smiled triumphantly. "Not me! No - _I'm_ going to have a big house, and servants, and nothing to do all day but go visiting and shopping. It's just what I've always wanted. And besides," she added happily, "Gaston is a peddler. He'll be gone for _months _at a time! So I won't even have to spend that much time with him."

"Good point!" Marie agreed.

Gatson moved away, his blood boiling. How _dare_ she talk about him like that, after all he had done for her! The ungrateful minx! And to think he had asked her to _marry _him! She certainly didn't deserve him, no matter how pretty she was.

But at least now he understood why she hadn't broken the spell. Only a girl who loved him could do that, and Celeste clearly didn't.

He stormed back to the inn and started packing. Then he came across the diamond ring he had planned to give her. It was huge and ostentatious, and glittered in the light.

He thought for a long time about what exactly to do about Celeste. He wanted to just leave her flat without so much as a word. But he HAD asked her to marry him in front of her family. He wondered if legally he might owe her something for reneging on the proposal.

Finally he just wrapped up the ring and sent it to her by messenger. He included a note telling her simply that the wedding was off, but she could keep the ring. That was all she had really wanted, anyway, he thought. Then he left town.

He drove the horse and wagon all night and well into the following day, his mood dark and grim. He wanted to get as far away from Montpellier and Celeste as possible. By late afternoon, he had travelled over 30 miles, and Henri was exhausted. Gaston knew he would have to stop. He entered the village of Manosque, stabled and fed the horse, then headed for the nearest tavern, determined to get as drunk as possible.

He sat in the darkest corner of the pub, downing shots of brandy and feeling more desperate and miserable by the minute. He had spent four long years focused on this plan - the plan he had been certain would break the spell. It had gone exactly as he had envisioned: he had dazzled Celeste with his wealth, and she had agreed to marry him. She had even said the words "I love you."

But it wasn't enough.

The Enchantress had said that only true love would break the spell. _That_ was his big mistake, he saw now. Apparently, getting a girl to marry him for his money was not the same as love. There was no point trying the same plan with another girl - the result would be the same, he knew. Using his money to buy love simply wouldn't work.

He certainly couldn't use his looks or strength to attract a girl anymore. What else _was _there?

With a sinking feeling, he realized the awful truth: he would never change back unless a girl actually loved _him. _Not his looks, or his strength, or his money, but truly loved him for himself. Which was impossible. What girl could ever love a puny, ugly little freak?

His mind raced, like a trapped animal seeking escape. There _had _to be a way out, a loophole, some cunning plan that could end the curse. But he was out of ideas. The spell was airtight - only true love could free him. And that was the one thing he could never attain, not looking the way he did. He had always been adept at manipulating people and getting them to do what he wanted. But forcing someone to _feel _a certain way? He couldn't do that. No plot or scheme could save him now.

He wasn't going to win. Not this time.

The realization shook him to the core. He had always firmly believed that he was special, better than other people, and therefore entitled to have anything he wanted. His parents had doted on him, the villagers had idolized him, and as far as he could see, the world revolved around him. Even when the Enchantress had cursed him, he had been confident that it was just a temporary setback - in the end, he was sure to triumph. Gaston _always _won, after all. That was just the way the world worked.

But now he had to face the devastating knowledge that he had been fooling himself. The world didn't care at all what happened to him. He was _not_ guaranteed a happy ending.

He had lost. He couldn't fight magic. And this one loss had cost him everything he cared about. He was small and weak and pathetic, an object of ridicule - and he knew, with a growing despair, that he would be trapped in this form for the rest of his life.


	7. Despair

CHAPTER 7

Over the next year, Gaston continued peddling his wares around France. But something in him had broken. He was just drifting aimlessly, going through the motions. Without a plan or scheme, without his former overwhelming confidence that he would break the spell, he felt empty and bereft.

His entire worldview had crumbled. He had always held the unshakable belief that he was destined for greatness, and that no matter what happened, he would always come out on top. The shocking revelation that it wasn't true devastated him. He was terrified to realize that he was actually going to spend the rest of his life in this wretched, insignificant form, and eventually die alone and forgotten. And there was nothing he could do about it.

In the early days of the spell, his rage and his desire for revenge had sustained him. He had envisioned tracking down the Enchantress and making her pay for what she had done to him.

But in his current state of fear and desperation, such thoughts had long since vanished. He still dreamed of finding the Enchantress - but if he did, he would immediately fall to his knees and beg her to lift the curse. Only she had the power to save him now. If she ever appeared to him, he thought, he would tell her he was sorry for everything he had done, he would promise to stay away from Belle and her prince...anything she wanted, if she would only change him back to his real self and let him have his life back.

But the Enchantress never appeared, and he knew that he was doomed.

For a time, he tried to use his money to ease his pain, attempting to buy himself happiness as he had tried to buy Celeste's love. He ate in the best restaurants, drank the finest wine, wore the best clothes. But it did nothing to alleviate his misery.

Money couldn't buy him the things he missed most: hunting wild game in the forest, making an impossible shot with his bow or rifle, thundering at a gallop on his fiery black stallion, fighting and wrestling, lifting massive weights before an appreciative audience. His whole life had centered around his physical prowess; without it, he felt empty.

No amount of money could erase the expression on people's faces when they first saw him: that instinctive recoil, that look of disgust in their eyes. Even people who were polite and covered up quickly couldn't hide that first reaction. Gaston never got used to it, and never would.

And then there were the intangibles, the things he missed that he couldn't put into words: the reassuring familiarity of the village where he'd lived his whole life; the comforting routine of seeing the same faces every day; the pride in knowing that he was admired and respected by all who knew him; the camaraderie and good spirits of his friends at the tavern every night. He missed having a home, a place where he belonged.

How strange it was that he had ended up as a travelling peddler - he, who had never had any interest at all in seeing faraway lands or different kinds of people. He wondered why he continued doing it. It was a pointless quest, after all. He knew now that he was never going to find a girl to love him, no matter how many towns and villages he visited. He might as well just pick a town at random, buy a house with the money he'd saved, and spend the rest of his days there. At least then he wouldn't have to deal with the endless, exhausting months on the road, and the discomfort of riding in the rickety wagon in rain, wind and snow.

And yet...despite everything, there was still a tiny, stubborn spark of determination inside him that refused to let him give up. He had been a dwarf for five years now, but the magic hourglass would continue to flow for five years more. He wasn't a quitter - it just wasn't in him. He simply couldn't stop trying until the very last grain of sand was gone.

So, even though he knew it was futile, he continued travelling around France, talking to the women that the met, and he tried to tell himself that there was still a chance, that he still had time to break the spell. But he knew in his heart that it was hopeless. Five years or 5,000 - it wouldn't make a difference. No girl in the world could ever love the hideous thing that he had become.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the village of Reillanne, a young woman was rolling out dough for an apple pie. She was 24 years old, with clear grey eyes, a slightly pointed nose and a wide, generous mouth. Her hair was straight and sandy brown. She would have been pleasant-looking, though not pretty, but her appearance was marred by an ugly scar on her right cheek.

A knock at the door interrupted her baking. She opened it. Outside was a lovely girl of 18, her hair a cascade of blonde ringlets. Without a greeting, she immediately pushed past the other girl and launched into a torrent of words. "Is it ready, Genevieve? How does it look? The dance is this Saturday, I hope it will be finished! I have to look my best, you know."

Genevieve laughed. "It's finished, Melisande. Come and see." She led the blonde to a dressmaker's dummy, on which was a low-cut pink party dress with a flounced skirt.

Melisande squealed with delight. "Let me try it on!" Genevieve helped her into it. She went to the full-length mirror and twirled.

"You look beautiful," Genevieve said sincerely.

"I do, don't I?" said Melisande happily. "Etienne is sure to propose when he sees me in this! " She stopped, and her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she told Genevieve apologetically. "That was inconsiderate of me. I shouldn't talk of marriage around you."

"Why ever not?" asked Genevieve, arranging the hem of Melisande's dress.

Melisande looked at her pityingly. "Well, you're already 24 and not married. It must be so hard for you, being disfigured like that," she said sympathetically. "Men like pretty girls, after all."

"Yes, a lot of them do," agreed Genevieve lightly.

Melisande thought a moment, then suddenly brightened. "You know, Genevieve, my mother has a cousin in Aquitaine - he's about 50, but he's blind! He wouldn't care at all what you look like! Shall I ask him to come for a visit?" she asked helpfully.

_Oh, Lord, give me strength, _thought Genevieve. She forced herself to smile. "No, thank you, Melisande. I'm fine," she said patiently. "Of course marriage is a wonderful thing. But it doesn't happen to everyone, and it's foolish to waste time fretting over things you have no control over. I've been blessed: I have a nice house, and food on the table, and good friends, and I love my work. There's plenty in the world who aren't as fortunate."

"You are _so _brave to see it that way," Melisande said admiringly.

Genevieve had had enough. "Let's take this new dress off so it doesn't get wrinkled before the dance," she suggested.

"Oh! Good point!" said Melisande. Genevieve helped her take off the dress, folded it neatly and wrapped it in brown paper. "How much do I owe you?"

"30 francs," said Genevieve. Melisande paid her. "Well, au revoir!" she said merrily, skipping out the door with her package.

Genevieve shook her head in amusement. Then she went back to rolling out dough for her pie, humming cheerfully.


	8. Opportunity

_Author's note: I just want to say a big, heartfelt "Thank you!" to all you reviewers. When I first started writing this story, I was very worried that no one would want to read it, because it's not about Belle and the Beast. So your comments really mean a lot to me! Thank you so much! _

CHAPTER 8

It was a sunny morning in late August as Gaston's horse and wagon entered the town of Reillanne. Gaston stepped down and called loudly, as he always did, "Come one, come all, for the finest merchandise in all of France! Pots and pans, exceptional tools, tempting trinkets, and everything you could ever want or need!"

A rather brutish young man approached the cart, accompanied by a pretty blonde girl. He smirked when he saw Gaston. "Get a load of this little pipsqueak," he told the blonde.

The blonde giggled, but was quickly distracted by the wares on the cart. "Oooh, look at all the lovely rings and necklaces!" she squealed. "Buy them for me Etienne, pretty please?" She batted her eyes at her beau.

"I'll buy you _one,_ Melisande," he said. "I'm not made of money." She pouted prettily. Etienne picked up a ring adorned with an amethyst. "How much is this?" he asked Gaston belligerently. "And you better not overcharge me, you little shrimp, or I'll pound you."

"My, my," said a new voice mildly. "Such rudeness, Etienne. You should be more polite, or this gentleman may not want to sell you anything at all."

Etienne sneered, "Ah, what do you know about it, you witch?"

Gaston looked up, and was startled by what he saw. A young woman in her 20s was approaching, but there was something wrong with her. On the right side of her face was an ugly red scar, and the skin around it had a puckered, bubbly appearance, like oatmeal.

But despite her unattractive appearance, Gaston didn't appreciate the lout's nastiness to her. He'd suffered too many taunts himself over the past five years. "That's no way to talk to a lady," he reprimanded. The girl looked surprised, but pleased.

Etienne rolled his eyes. "Just tell me how much the ring is, okay?"

"It's 10 francs," Gaston said. Ordinarily he would have charged seven. He felt a smug sense of triumph as Etienne tossed the money at him and left with the simpering Melisande. Gaston turned to the young woman. "May I help you, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, thank you," she said. She smiled at him pleasantly, displaying no reaction to his stunted appearance. It was a refreshing change. "Do you have any cloth?"

"Of course." He showed her his wares - cotton, wool, satin and silk in a rainbow of colors. She was delighted. "Oh, this is wonderful! The general store here in town has such a limited selection."

Gaston eyed the girl calculatingly as she examined the fabrics. For five years he had been seeking a girl who could love him, but all those he had met rejected him because of his appearance. But a _disfigured _girl...now _that _was a possibility he hadn't thought of.

He felt a sudden surge of excitement. Of course! It was so _obvious!_ If he courted a girl who was even uglier than_ he_ was, then his appearance wouldn't matter.

For the first time in a year, he felt his hopes soaring, along with his confidence. It wasn't over after all - he still had a chance! Normally, of course, he would never have chosen an unattractive girl for romance, but at this point, he couldn't be picky. All that mattered was breaking the spell, no matter what the cost. And here was the perfect solution. A disfigured girl like this would surely be lonely and desperate for a man - _any _man, even one as loathsome as himself. Surely it would be easy to win _her _love. She would no doubt be pathetically grateful for any attention.

He could _do _this, he realized excitedly. And then, _finally_, he could escape the curse and get his life back.

He approached the girl, determined to impress her. "This wool is the finest in the world," he told her with his customary bravado. "It's from a very rare breed of sheep that lives only on high mountains in Russia. Their fleece is of the very best quality. They're tended by monks who devote their lives to their care, and fed only milk and wine. The special diet and the cold, thin mountain air makes the sheep's fleece especially soft."

She looked at him doubtfully. "Really?"

"No," he admitted, with a disarming grin. "It sounded good though, didn't it?"

She laughed delightedly. "You have a way with words, monsieur. You must be the best salesman in the world!"

"I am," he bragged.

She smiled. "Not exactly lacking in confidence, are you?" She liked that. She knew how it felt to be different, to have people stare and mock you for how you looked. It took strength of character not to let it affect you. It was all too easy to become timid, or to feel somehow like less of a person. But that had never been her way. She knew her own worth, and if some people judged her purely on her appearance, well, it only proved _their _ignorance. She knew who her true friends were, and it was their opinion she valued.

This peddler was a tiny, funny-looking dwarf, but he acted as self-assured as if he were the most handsome man in the world. _Good for him_, she thought.

"I'm Genevieve," she said, extending her hand. "And you are...?

"Gaston," he replied. He took her hand and kissed it, with a courtly bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She picked up a sky-blue satin ribbon and studied it thoughtfully. "I think this would make a perfect trimming for a dress I'm working on. I wonder...would you mind terribly bringing your cart over to my house? I'd like to compare the colors I already have with yours, to see which shades would be most complementary."

She realized belatedly that it would normally be considered improper for a man to visit a woman's home unchaperoned. If she were anyone else, gossippy tongues would start wagging. But she also realized that in her case, no one would think anything of it, because the townspeople couldn't imagine any man being attracted to her.

Gaston, meanwhile, saw the invitation as a perfect opportunity. "No trouble at all," he assured her. Things were finally falling into place, he thought.

She lived in a small, neat white cottage. In front was a colorful garden of roses, violets and lilies, with more flowers in pots on the windowsills. Gaston led the horse and cart to a spot under a shady tree.

Genevieve went over to a well, pulled up a bucket of water, and set it before Henri, who drank gratefully. "Wait here a minute," she said, and went into the house. She came back out with a handful of carrots, which she gave the horse as well.

"That's very kind of you," Gaston said.

She smiled, patting the horse's neck. "Now, let's see what you've got." She looked through the cart, chose some fabric samples, and brought them inside. Gaston followed.

Inside were two rooms, a kitchen and a sitting room, with stairs leading up to what Gaston presumed were bedrooms. In the sitting room were three dressmaker's dummies with dresses in various stages of completion, a worktable covered with drawings, sketches and patterns, and a small sofa strewn with various scraps of cloth. Genevieve smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the mess," she said, clearing space on the sofa and putting down the armload of fabric she carried. "I'm a seamstress."

"So I see," Gaston replied, looking around.

She chose the sky-blue ribbon and brought it to a royal blue dress on one of the dummies. She held it against the bottom of the dress, and expertly twisted it into a scallop design. "Oh, yes, this will be perfect," she said in satisfaction. She put the ribbon down.

Then she went through the other fabric samples, holding them up to her other dresses and consulting the patterns on the table. She picked out eight bolts of cloth and several bright ribbons while Gaston watched.

"You have excellent merchandise," she said, paying him.

"Only the best," he agreed, taking the money. He thought quickly, _I should compliment her_. But he was at a loss. He certainly couldn't tell her she was beautiful. What else was there to say to a woman? He looked around for inspiration, and his eye fell on the dressmaker dummies. "Your dresses are nice," he improvised quickly.

He went over to look at them, and was surprised to realize that they really were beautifully made, with expert craftsmanship. He examined the delicate embroidery. "You made these yourself?" he said, this time with genuine admiration. "You're very talented."

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

He thanked her, and she led him into the kitchen. Unlike the sitting room, the kitchen was neat as a pin. It was painted a cheery yellow. On a braided rug in front of the fireplace, an elderly basset hound lifted its head at their approach and thumped its tail on the floor.

Gaston kneeled next to the hound. "Hey, fella," he said, scratching its ears. He liked dogs; he had grown up with them. His father had always kept two or three hunting hounds around the house when he was a child.

"That's Remy," said Genevieve, pouring two cups of coffee. "He loves attention, as long as he doesn't have to actually stand up or move to get it."

Gaston patted the dog one more time, then sat down at the table with Genevieve.

He tried not to stare at her scar, but he couldn't help it. She smiled understandingly, seemingly unoffended. "You _can _ask me about it, you know," she told him. "I don't mind."

_Well, if she says it's okay... _"What _happened _to you?" Gaston asked bluntly.

She took a sip of coffee. "When I was two years old, I was playing near the hearth, and I tripped and fell in the fire. I was burned very badly. But fortunately, my mother was there, and she pulled me out quickly. If she'd taken a few seconds longer, I could have died, or been crippled. As it was, it took a long time to heal, but there was no serious damage. Just the scars. I was incredibly lucky."

Gaston didn't think she was lucky, looking like that, but he didn't say it.

"So, that's my story. How about you? What's it like being a peddler?" Genevieve asked conversationally.

"Oh, it's very exciting," he bragged immediately, wanting to impress her. "I've travelled all over France, and seen everything there is to see. In Paris there are glittering shops full of marvellous things, and elegant people strolling along the Champs Elysee, and the Musee de la Republique has all kinds of paintings." Not that he'd ever gone inside - he had no interest in art. But she didn't have to know that.

"In Alsace, there's a town called Riquewihr which is famous for its flowers. You'd like that," Gaston continued, remembering the garden in front of her house. "In Strasbourg there's a magnificent cathedral made of red sandstone, and in Bordeaux you can get the finest wine you've ever tasted."

She listened with interest, her eyes on his face. "It must be fascinating," she said. "I've never been out of this town myself. Although I have to admit, I never really had a taste for travel. I like being in my own cozy little house, with my garden and my dog. I suppose it must seem very boring to you," she added with a laugh.

"No, I know what you mean," said Gaston truthfully. "I grew up in a little village too. My family lived there for generations. There was one girl there who hated it - she complained it was too 'provincial,' whatever _that _means. But I was happy there." His blue eyes were wistful as he sipped his coffee. "I knew everyone, and everyone knew me, and they all thought I was great. I had everything I wanted. I was going to get married, and have a big family, and raise my children there."

She leaned forward, her chin on her hands. "It sounds wonderful. So why did you leave?"

He looked away. "Things changed," was all he said.

Genevieve was curious, but it was clear that he wasn't going to talk about it. She changed the subject. "You mentioned Paris. I wonder if you might do me a favor?"

"Of course," he said. "What is it?"

"When you go to Paris next, would you buy some dresses for me? Three or four would do. But not fancy ballgowns. I need the kind of dresses that sophisticated, upper-class ladies would wear to go shopping or visiting. And they should be the latest fashions. Can you do that for me? I can give you the money now."

"Certainly," said Gaston, pleased. It was a ready-made excuse to see her again, and doing her a favor would get him in her good graces. "I'll be heading to Paris on Tuesday, so it's no problem. But what do you need them for?"

"I want to copy them," she explained. "Not in the same materials, though. Parisian fashions will probably be silk or satin, which is impractical unless you have an army of maids to clean them for you. Mine will be cotton. But here in town, there are quite a few ladies who fancy themselves to be ever so sophisticated and fashionable, even though they've never been farther than the next village. If I can offer them the kind of dresses that are the latest style in Paris, they'll be thrilled. They'll want to buy four or five each, for certain."

"That's very clever of you," he said admiringly. Intelligence was not a trait he usually valued in women; talk of books or politics bored him to tears. But figuring out a way to make money - _that _was something he could appreciate.

Genevieve went to the sofa, bent down and drew out a metal box hidden underneath. She opened it, took out a small bag of gold coins, and replaced the box.

Holding the bag, she hesitated. She did need the Parisian dresses...but this was a lot of money to give to a complete stranger. Was she making a foolish mistake?

She looked at Gaston, who was waiting expectantly. She took a deep breath. "Here," she said, handing the bag to him a bit reluctantly. "This should be more than enough. It's most of my savings, so don't lose it!" she added, with a nervous laugh.

"How do you know I won't run off with it?" he teased, as though reading her mind.

She smiled. "I trust you. You have an honest face."

Now _that _was something he had never heard, even before the curse. But he took the money and promised to get the dresses.

He wondered if he should say more, do something to woo her. But he decided not to push his luck. She had already invited him in for coffee, asked him a big favor, and trusted him with money. Best not to overdo it. He had an excuse to come back and see her, after all.

"I'll be back as soon as I can with the dresses," he promised. "You can count on me."

"I'm sure I can," she said, smiling.

He took her hand for a moment. "It was a pleasure to meet you," he said with a gentlemanly bow, and left the house, feeling hopeful for the first time since leaving Celeste.


	9. Dinner

CHAPTER 9

Gaston put the box of dresses on his cart with a sense of satisfaction. Genevieve would be pleased, he thought. He had bought four different dresses, all beautiful, and all of them the very picture of what he saw all around him as the fashionable ladies of Paris strolled past him on the avenue or alighted from their luxurious carriages. It was just what she had asked for.

But what else could he do to impress her? _I should buy her a present, _he thought. But what? He had no idea what she would like. All he knew about her was that she was a seamstress, but he had already gotten her the dresses. He needed to think of something else. _Not _jewelry, he thought with a shudder, remembering the debacle with Celeste. No, it had to be something unique and different - something that would really spark her interest. He had to get her to fall in love with him, so he could finally turn back to the old Gaston. He started to walk, looking in store windows for inspiration.

He paused thoughtfully by a bookshop. Normally it was the last place he would ever enter. But Belle had loved books - maybe Genevieve did too. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He could just picture it: an ugly, lonely girl, sitting at home all by herself day after day, escaping her drab life by reading books and filling her head with romantic, fantastical nonsense. A book would be perfect, he decided.

He entered the bookshop. The door jingled. An elderly man with glasses came forward. "Bonjour. How may I help you?"

"I need a book," Gaston announced boldly.

"Of course," said the bookseller. "But what kind of book?"

_There are different kinds? _Gaston thought. He looked around, but the shelves, with their rows of spines, all looked identical to him. He tried to recall anything Belle had ever said about her books. It was difficult - he had usually tuned out any conversation that wasn't about him.

Then it came to him. "Ogres and beanstalks," he said triumphantly. He was certain she had been babbling about a book like that one day in the marketplace, while he had tried unsuccessfully to turn the discussion to his latest hunting conquest. It had been very annoying.

"Fairy tales, do you mean?" asked the bookseller.

"Yes, fine," said Gaston, already losing interest. He just wanted to pay for the book and get out of this dusty, dull place.

The bookseller selected a book with a red velvet cover and handed it to Gaston, who flipped through it. At least it had pictures. "I'll take it." He paid the bookseller, who wrapped up the book, and left.

Twelve days later, he was back in Reillanne. He had gone there straight from Paris, skipping his peddler's route entirely. Genevieve was the key to breaking the spell, he knew; he'd never have a better chance than this. He couldn't waste time wandering all over France.

He knocked on her door. She opened it, and he was gratified to see a look of delight come over her face. "Gaston! What a pleasant surprise."

"Isn't it though? I'm just full of surprises," he agreed.

"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," she said, stepping aside so he could enter the house.

"I didn't want to keep you waiting," he said, handing her the box.

"Oh, are these the dresses?" She opened the box and took them out one by one, examining them closely. "Oh, Gaston, these are _perfect! _Thank you so much!"

_Score one point for me, _he thought. It felt good to have a female reacting so positively to him again, after five years of rejection.

"I brought something else for you," he said, handing her the wrapped book.

She looked surprised and pleased. She hadn't been expecting a present. Gaston watched with anticipation as she opened the package.

"Oh! It's...a book. A book of fairy tales," she said, clearly disappointed. But she recovered almost instantly, and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you very much! That was so thoughtful of you. You're very generous."

Gaston was not fooled. "You don't like it?"

She looked embarrassed. "Truly, I'm so touched that you would get me a gift. It means a lot to me."

"But...?" Gaston pressed. "Come on now, tell the truth."

She sighed. "Well...to be perfectly honest...I'm not much of a reader. I've never really liked books."

She was surprised to see him burst out laughing. "Really? You don't like books? That's _great!_" To her utter astonishment, he took the book out of her hands and tossed it onto the fire.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in bewilderment.

"I _hate_ books!" he explained, still grinning broadly. "I wanted to get you something, but I didn't know what you would like. I once knew a girl who loved books, so I thought maybe you did too. But I can't stand them myself."

Genevieve started laughing too. "Neither can I!" she admitted.

She went into the kitchen, still chuckling. "I was just about to have dinner. Come, sit down and join me. It's the least I can do after you wasted your money on me."

Gaston followed her and sat down at the table. "It wasn't a waste. It was worth the money to know you're not going to bore me to death talking about books."

Genevieve was bustling about the kitchen, getting the food ready. "What's funny is that not only did you buy me a book, but you picked fairy tales, of all things! My mother used to read them to me sometimes, and I always hated them."

"Why?" asked Gaston.

"In fairy tales, all the good people are beautiful, and all the evil people are ugly," she explained. "It's insulting! What does your appearance have to do with how good you are? Growing up, I had enough trouble with Etienne and the other boys calling me a witch, without hearing fairy tales that said the same thing. But I'm sure you've had to put up with the same kind of nonsense," she added with a sigh. "People can be very unkind."

"Yes," Gaston said sympathetically, thinking back over the past five years.

Then it occurred to him that if he had met her before he was cursed, he would have been one of the ruffians mocking her. He felt a twinge of shame at the realization.

Genevieve brought a pot of soup to the table and spooned it into two bowls, then sat down to eat. "Of course, there's nothing wrong with books for people who like them. To each his own, I say. But I never saw the point of it myself. To sit around for hours reading about imaginary stories that never happened...it just seems like a big waste of time to me. There's so much else to _do_."

"It's true!" agreed Gaston. She had described his own feelings perfectly.

Genevieve went on, "I would rather sew a dress, or make a cake - at least then I have something to show for my time. Or I can visit with friends, or do something outside - work in my garden, ride my horses..."

"You ride horses?" asked Gaston, interested.

"Yes," she said. "I love going riding out in the woods all day. I have two very nice little fillies who are as sweet as can be." She stood up, removed the empty soup bowls, and brought over a platter of fried fish. "Maybe you could come riding with me sometime."

"I'd love to," Gaston replied, meaning it. He had missed horseback riding these past few years. He took a bite of fish. "This is good," he said. "It tastes fresh - did you buy it today?"

"No," she said proudly. "I caught it myself."

He put the fork down. "You're joking," he said.

"No, I really did," she assured him. "I _should _have spent the day sewing - I have two dresses that absolutely have to be finished by next week. But it was such a gorgeous day today, I couldn't bear to spend it inside. So I went down to the lake and went fishing. It's a nice spot. The fish are always biting - you're pretty much guaranteed to catch something. And it's cheaper than going to the market."

Gaston continued eating, but he looked at her with new interest. He had never met a woman who liked fishing and horseback riding. The girls back home wouldn't do anything that might soil their dresses or muss their hair.

"I like fishing too," he told her. "And hunting."

"Really?" she said. "Are you good at it?"

"I was the _best_," he boasted. "The greatest hunter in the world. I could bag anything: deer, wild geese, foxes, boar, rabbits, wolves...I even faced down a grizzly bear. I had it made into a rug. The village tavern had a whole wall covered with my trophies."

She looked at him doubtfully. It was hard to picture this little dwarf being a renowned hunter. Still, he spoke with such conviction, she found herself believing him. "You said you _were _a hunter. But not now?" she asked.

He wondered how to explain. "My eyes aren't as good as they used to be," he said finally. _But they will be again, and soon, _he thought determinedly, looking at her. She liked him, he could tell. It was only a matter of time, and then he _would _be that mighty hunter again. He couldn't wait.

"So, you killed a grizzly bear?" Genevieve asked, impressed. "That's incredible. How did you do it?"

Dinner passed quickly as they talked. Gaston regaled her with colorful stories of his hunting exploits, and she listened with genuine interest, peppering him with questions throughout.

Afterward, Genevieve brought out an apple pie for dessert. "This is delicious," Gaston said appreciatively. He was surprised at how much at home he felt here. The cozy kitchen, the homemade pie, the hound dog snoozing in front of the hearth...it was exactly the kind of domestic scene he had imagined when he had proposed to Belle. All it needed was six or seven kids to complete the picture.

Genevieve was looking at him thoughtfully. "I wonder...do you play poker, by any chance?"

"Of course," Gaston replied. "Why?"

"Well...you'll think me strange, no doubt. But I enjoy poker, and I never have anyone to play with," she explained.

He was surprised. "But you're a woman. Women don't play poker."

"I _know!"_ she said. "That's my problem. My father taught me how to play, and I'm very good at it. But the women think it very unladylike, so they wouldn't dream of playing it. And I can't very well go down to the tavern and tell the men to deal me in! I thought maybe you'd play a hand with me. But no betting more than 10 francs; I'm not rich, you know."

He looked at her, intrigued. It was obvious to him by now that she _wasn't _the dull, drab wallflower he had originally assumed she must be. He was having a far better time in her company than he had ever imagined he would.

He grinned. "You're full of surprises too, you know that? All right, I'll play with you. But I warn you, I _never_ lose."

Her eyes were mischievous. "Don't be so sure."

She cleared the table, fetched a deck of cards, and dealt the first hand. Gaston picked up his cards. A straight flush. Genevieve tossed a sou onto the table. "I'll see you and raise you a franc," he said. She did the same, and he saw her bet. Neither of them chose to pick another card. They laid down their hands.

She had a straight. His hand beat hers. He grinned as he scooped up the money. "I told you, I always win," he said smugly.

She smiled. "The night is young," she warned.

On the second hand, he had three jacks. She kept raising the bet, getting close to the limit of 10 francs. _She must have something really good, _he thought. _Better cut my losses_. "I fold," he said, laying the cards down.

She put hers down as well. To his surprise, she had nothing - just a king as a high card. "I bluffed!" she said cheerfully, gathering up the money.

Gaston stiffened, and anger flashed briefly in his blue eyes. He had never been a good sport. And to be beaten by a woman! His gaze flickered to her to see if she was gloating at his loss.

But she wasn't. She was already shuffling the deck for the next hand, as though it didn't matter who won. "This is so much fun!" she said happily. "Thank you for playing with me."

Gaston relaxed. "You're welcome," he said calmly, and was surprised at himself.

He won the next two hands. She won the following hand after that, and oddly, he realized he didn't mind. He found himself enjoying the challenge.

Night had fallen, and it had started to rain outside. They could hear the patter of drops on the roof as they played. But inside the cottage it was warm. The fire crackled in the fireplace and cast flickering shadows on the cards. They talked companionably as the game went on. Gaston was feeling more at ease than he had in years.

Genevieve's eye fell on the mantel clock. "Oh, my! It's almost 10:00," she said in surprise. She had been having a good time and hadn't noticed the time passing.

Gaston reluctantly rose to go. He wasn't looking forward to his empty room at the inn.

She rose too, and walked him to the door. "Thank you so much," she said warmly. "That was the nicest evening I've had in quite a while."

"Me too," he said sincerely.

Genevieve noticed that he lingered on her doorstep, as if he didn't want to leave. _He must be very lonely, always traveling from town to town, _she thought sympathetically. She remembered how homesick he had sounded when he described the village where he'd grown up.

He asked hopefully, "May I call on you later this week?"

"I'd like that," she said, smiling.

Gaston smiled back, feeling unexpectedly lighthearted.

Then he suddenly remembered his mission. He was supposed to be acting as charming as possible. He took her hand and kissed it as suavely as he knew how. "Bonnuit, mademoiselle," he said with a courtly bow, and left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Genevieve was sewing when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find a plump, cheerful young woman with curly black hair, accompanied by a tousled two-year-old boy. Genevieve smiled in delight. "Nathalie!" She hugged her friend. "It's good to see you."

She kneeled in front of the child. "And Jean-Claude! How's my favorite godson?" She scooped him up and carried him into the kitchen. "I think I have something here just for you." She opened the cookie jar and handed him a gingerbread cookie. He munched it happily.

"Where doggie?" he asked.

She set him down. "Right over there," she said, pointing at Remy. The toddler ran over to pet the dog, who licked his face.

Nathalie sat down at the table. "I'm sorry I haven't been by lately - the last few weeks have been so busy, with the harvest and all. But I've missed you."

"How are you feeling?" asked Genevieve, putting a plate of cookies on the table and sitting down.

Nathalie patted her belly. "Well, the morning sickness isn't quite as bad this time around, so that's a blessing. I still have four more months to go, though."

"Is Jean-Claude looking forward to being a big brother?" asked Genevieve.

Nathalie laughed. "I asked him if he wanted a little brother or a little sister, and he said, 'I want a puppy.'" Genevieve chuckled.

Nathalie took a cookie from the plate. "So, what's new with you?"

"Well..." said Genevieve, with a twinkle in her eye. "I think I'm being courted by a man."

Nathalie stopped in mid-bite. "Really? Oh, Gen, that's _wonderful!_ Tell me everything!"

"His name is Gaston," said Genevieve. "He's a peddler - you've probably seen him around."

Nathalie looked thoughtful. "Yes, I think I have. That little dwarf, right? Not much to look at, though, is he?"

"Well, let's be honest, neither am I," said Genevieve frankly. "And anyway, I don't trust men who are too good-looking. Look at what my mother went through with my father."

Nathalie nodded sympathetically. "He did have an eye for the ladies, didn't he?"

"He certainly did," said Genevieve grimly. "It just about broke my mother's heart." Her father had been exceptionally handsome, but a shameless rake and womanizer. His frequent liaisons had given the town gossips plenty to talk about.

"Well, that's one thing you won't have to worry about with that peddler," said Nathalie. "I doubt he has hordes of women falling for him! But tell me about him - I've only seen him in passing. I've never spoken to him."

Genevieve looked thoughtful. "He's hard to describe. He's just a little guy, not much to look at as you said, yet there's something so...larger than life about him, you know? He's incredibly confident and ambitious, like there's nothing he can't do. He likes to brag, and he tells the most wonderful stories about all the things he's done. He has so much energy and charisma. I really admire him. He's built up this whole peddler route, which can't have been easy, and he's been successful at it. And he likes fishing, and hunting, and horseback riding. Oh, and he doesn't mind playing cards with me!" she added.

Nathalie looked delighted. "He sounds perfect for you! Is it serious?"

Genevieve laughed. "Oh, I don't know. I do like him a lot. But he's probably just being friendly. And besides, he's a travelling peddler - I'm sure he'll be moving on soon."

"You never know," said Nathalie. Her eyes became dreamy as she thought of romantic possibilities. "Maybe you've totally swept him off his feet! And he'll realize he simply can't live without you. So he'll give up the peddling business and take a job here in Reillanne, just to be near you. And then..."

Genevieve laughed. "You're incorrigible! You'll have me married off with six children by next week."

"Would that be so bad?" asked Nathalie.

Genevieve smiled. "No," she admitted. "But wishing and daydreaming won't make it happen. As my mother used to say, 'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.' She bit into a cookie and chewed it thoughtfully. "I just try to enjoy each day as it comes. Whatever will be, will be."

Nathalie shook her head. "Oh, Gen, you're always so _practical."_

Genevieve shrugged. "Just realistic."

Nathalie said, "Well, _I'm _going to do some wishing and hoping for you, so there."

Genevieve laughed. "Be my guest. I'll let you know how it turns out."

"You'd better!" Nathalie looked at the clock and got up carefully, holding her stomach. "Well, I'd better be getting back." She scooped up Jean-Claude and carried him to the door. "I'll see you Tuesday at the quilting bee."

"Okay. See you then," said Genevieve, closing the door, and went back to her sewing.


	10. Picnic

CHAPTER 10

Gaston patted the neck of the dappled grey filly as she carried him across the meadow. Her name was Cerise. She was a far cry from Tristan, his big, spirited black stallion at home. Cerise was a small, pretty, gentle horse; a child would have been safe on her back. But it felt good to be riding any horse, after so long. He had thought that as a dwarf, all his physical activities were lost to him. He was glad to learn it wasn't true.

He looked over at Genevieve, riding a white filly named Fleur. If anyone had ever told him that he would want to keep company with a disfigured girl - or for that matter, any girl who was less than breathtakingly gorgeous - he would have been insulted. But he felt so..._comfortable_ with Genevieve. He'd never known a girl like her. She wasn't silly and giggly and flirty like the blonde triplets back home, or pretentious like Celeste, or dreamy and intellectual like Belle, with her nose in a book and a faraway look in her eyes. Genevieve was practical and down-to-earth and straightforward. She was warm and kind, and fun to be with, and laughed easily. And she liked all the same things he did. They had been seeing a lot of each other over the past month, and each time he left her, he couldn't wait to see her again. He felt as though he had always known her.

She saw him watching her, smiled mischievously, and called, "Race you to that grove of trees!", then took off before he could react.

Gaston grinned, spurred Cerise on, and managed to overtake Fleur seconds before she reached the grove. "The winner and still champion!" he bragged.

She laughed. "Well, you don't have to rub it in." The horses walked side by side through the woods. Gaston breathed deeply, taking in the scent of pine needles. Riding through a forest on horseback, with a girl by his side who admired him...he felt almost like himself again. He realized, with some surprise, that he was close to being happy.

Suddenly he stopped, and motioned to Genevieve to do the same. "What is it?" she asked.

"Shh," he said, holding up a hand. He dismounted, and she followed suit, watching him curiously. She saw him examine a leafy bush, look at the ground, then lick his forefinger and hold it up. "We're downwind," he told her in a low tone. "That's good. Our scent won't carry."

"I don't understand," she whispered, puzzled. "What's going on?"

"Just watch," he whispered back.

They stayed still and silent, waiting. For a minute, nothing happened. Then a majestic stag stepped into the clearing, not more than five feet away. It was huge, with an impressive rack of antlers. Gaston wished he'd brought his gun. At such close range, he was sure he could have brought it down, even without his former abilities. He heard Genevieve's sharp intake of breath. The stag stood for a moment, paused as though suspended in time. Then, seeing them, it leaped through the underbrush and was gone.

Genevieve whistled in admiration. "That was incredible. I've never seen one so close before," she said. "How did you know?"

Gaston took hold of a bush and showed it to her. "These leaves have been nibbled," he explained. "And there--" He pointed at the ground. "See those tracks? They're fresh, not more than a few minutes old. And he was walking, not running, when he made them. I figured that if he was just ambling along, nibbling at the bushes, he was probably still nearby."

Genevieve was impressed. "I bet you were an _amazing_ hunter."

He nodded. "I was."

She sighed. "I wish you still were," she said wistfully. "I love venison, but I hardly ever get the chance to eat it. The last time was at my friend Nathalie's wedding four years ago."

_When I'm myself again, I'll get you all the venison you can eat, _he thought. He imagined how delighted she would be.

They stopped in a clearing to eat a picnic lunch. Afterward, Gaston leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes, feeling full and content, enjoying the warm sunshine and listening to the birds chirping.

Genevieve lay on her back on the grass with her hands behind her head, watching the clouds drift overhead. They stayed that way in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

Suddenly Genevieve spoke. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked thoughtfully.

Gaston was startled. He stole a glance at her. She was still lying on her back, looking up at the clouds.

He followed her gaze up to the sky and considered the question. "I thought I was, once."

"Really? What was she like?" Genevieve pushed herself up on her elbow, looking interested.

"She was beautiful," replied Gaston, remembering how Belle's long dark hair shone in the sunlight.

"Oh," Genevieve said, musing on this. "What else?"

Gaston looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean, 'what else'?"

"Well, you loved this girl - or, you thought you did," Genevieve corrected herself. "What did you love about her?"

Gaston thought about it. "Well, nothing, really," he admitted. "She was very odd. She used to read all the time - and I mean _all _the time. She would actually walk around the village reading, holding a book in front of her face. We were all amazed she didn't bump into things."

Genevieve laughed. "Sounds like a match made in heaven," she teased. "Did she love you?"

"No," he answered. "I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down."

Genevieve's smile vanished. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "That must have been painful for you." She was silent a moment. "But the way you described her...maybe it was for the best. It doesn't sound like you would have been very happy together."

"No, I guess not," Gaston said, and it was a revelation to him. Hearing himself describing Belle aloud...what _had _he seen in her, anyway? Why had it felt so vitally important to marry her, by any means necessary?

He tried to remember just how his obsession had started. At first he had simply wanted the prestige of having the most beautiful wife in town, he recalled. And then, when she had rejected and humiliated him so publicly, he had been angry and embarrassed. His reputation was at stake. He was determined to prove to everyone that he hadn't lost after all - that he _always _got what he wanted in the end. That was all that mattered to him.

But, it occurred to him now, if his schemes had worked, and he _had_ succeeded in forcing Belle to marry him against her will...well, right now he'd be spending his life with a woman who hated him. _Why_ had he thought that was a good idea? It was actually pretty _stupid,_ now that he really thought about it. He had never looked beyond the triumphant moment of wedding her and showing the world that he had won.

_What a waste, _he thought. So many women had adored him, but he had insisted on pursuing the only one who couldn't stand him. And he'd ended up cursed as a result.

Genevieve's voice brought him back to the present. "Are you all right?" she asked with concern. "You look so serious! I'm sorry - I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

"It's all right," he reassured her. "I was just figuring something out." He looked at her curiously. "Anyway...have _you_ ever been in love?"

She smiled, a bit wistfully. "No, not really," she said. "When I was younger, I used to dream about falling in love, and getting married, and having lots of children. I guess all girls do. There _were _some boys who were friendly to me - they're not all nasty like Etienne. But they didn't think of me romantically." She was quiet a moment, remembering. "It's funny...in a way, that was how I became a seamstress."

Gaston was puzzled. "How's that?"

"When I was 16, there was a big dance at the village hall," she explained. "Everyone was very excited about it - we don't get much entertainment here. My friend Nathalie was upset because she didn't have money to buy a new dress, and she can't sew to save her life. I've always made my own clothes, so I made a dress for her." Genevieve smiled at the memory. "It was _so _beautiful - deep violet, to match her eyes. She showed it to some of the other girls, and they asked me to make dresses for _them, _too. It was a revelation for me. I found that I enjoyed being creative and coming up with designs. And the girls were so excited and so eager to wear the dresses...It made me feel like a part of things, you know? Even though I didn't have a beau like most of the other girls."

"Did you go to the dance too?" Gaston asked.

She nodded. "Oh, yes. The whole town went. No one asked me to dance, and I was sad about that...but then I saw the girls in my dresses, whirling around the floor, and they looked so wonderful. Everyone congratulated me on my talent. Then all the women in town started coming to me with their business. And I realized that, even though I'll never be beautiful, I can _make _things that are beautiful, and that's a rare gift. It made me feel better about myself."

Gaston was impressed by her positive attitude. Instead of being bitter about what she didn't have, she'd made the best of what she _did _have. _Not like me, _he thought ruefully.

Then he thought of her at that long-ago dance, standing alone while the boys chose other girls, and he suddenly felt protective of her. "The boys at that dance were fools," he told her. "You're more special than any of those other girls."

She smiled, touched. "Thanks, Gaston. That's nice of you to say."

They packed up the picnic leftovers and rode for the rest of the day. As the sun went down, they headed back toward town. When they got to the lake, they stopped and dismounted to let the horses drink.

As they waited, Genevieve looked up and groaned. "Look, it's that idiot Etienne," she whispered to Gaston, pointing to an approaching figure. "I hope he doesn't see us. It's been such a pleasant day - I really don't feel like dealing with him right now."

But Etienne did see them. He lurched toward them, clearly drunk, and laughed. "So, Genevieve, you finally found another freak to hang around with!" he taunted. "Smart move. No real man would ever be seen with you."

Gaston tensed. Genevieve put her hand on his arm. "Let it go," she said in a low tone. "It's not worth it."

Etienne looked at Gaston. "But even a shrimp like you could do better than _her, _couldn't you? I mean, look at her! She's so ugly. Just imagining making love to her - ugh, it makes me want to puke!"

Gaston stepped forward, his fists clenched. Genevieve bit her lip nervously. She didn't want him to get hurt. "It doesn't matter, Gaston. He's been spewing garbage like that my whole life. It's all right."

"It's _not _all right," said Gaston, his eyes still on Etienne. The lout was big as an ox and could easily pound him into mincemeat, but he didn't care. Genevieve didn't deserve to be treated this way. "Leave her alone," he said icily.

"Are you kidding me?" said Etienne belligerently. "Who do you think you are?"

Gaston's steely blue eyes bored into him. "I'm Gaston," he said dangerously, as though that said it all.

Startled by his intensity, Etienne stepped back uncertainly. Then he caught himself. This was just a puny little dwarf! Angry that he had been intimidated, even for a moment, he glared at Gaston. "Boy, are you gonna be sorry," he threatened, making a fist.

Gaston sized him up. He was huge, but he was clumsy, and drunk to boot. Maybe that could work to Gaston's advantage.

"Just try it," Gaston dared him.

Enraged, Etienne lunged forward. Gaston took a careful step backward, putting himself right on the edge of the embankment. Just as Etienne reached him, leaning forward with his arms outstretched, Gaston quickly ducked under his arm.

Etienne swivelled sharply, making a grab for Gaston, and lost his balance. He fell backward and tumbled down the embankment, landing in the lake with a splash. He came up sputtering. "I'll get you for this!" he yelled.

Genevieve grabbed Gaston's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here!" she said, pulling him toward the horses. They mounted and raced back to the village, Etienne hurling curses after them.

They were both laughing like naughty children as they reached Genevieve's house. Genevieve jumped off Fleur. "You are amazing!" she exclaimed.

Gaston shrugged as he dismounted, but he was grinning. "I know."

She turned suddenly serious, her grey eyes sober. "No one has ever done anything like that for me before," she said quietly. "And the way you stood up to him! He's twice your size, and incredibly strong. And mean as a bull. He could have _killed _you." Her voice was full of awe. "You're the bravest person I've ever met!"

Her eyes were shining as she looked at him, as though he were her hero. Back when he was strong and handsome, all the girls had gazed at him adoringly, and he had taken it for granted. But he had never dreamed anyone could ever look at him that way as a lowly dwarf.

In that moment, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He stared at her, momentarily unable to speak. Then he said softly, "Genevieve, will you marry me?"

She gasped. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

She was dying to say "yes" instantly and throw her arms around him. But it was all such a shock. She needed time to process it. "This is so sudden," she said, feeling unexpectedly shy.

"Can...can I think about it? Come for dinner tomorrow night," she added.

"Of course," he said. He wasn't offended. She would say yes - he could see it in her eyes.

She smiled. "Till tomorrow then, my knight in shining armor."

He kissed her hand. "Till tomorrow, fair lady."

He was whistling as he returned to the inn, happier than he could ever remember feeling. Everything was coming together. He loved her, and she loved him. Tomorrow at this time, his nightmare would finally be over. She would declare her love aloud and kiss him, and the spell would be broken. At last he would be himself again: tall, powerful, irresistibly handsome, the greatest hunter and fighter and marksman anyone had ever seen. He would have his life back. And then he would marry the woman he loved, and they would live happily ever after.

He went to the peddler wagon, took out the golden hourglass, and sat outside on a bench on the porch of the inn, watching the glittering, multicolored sand shift and flow. As the sand slipped through from the top to the bottom, it magically disappeared. He had been told to find true love before all the sand was gone, or be cursed forever. But right now, there was still a fair amount left. _Take that, Enchantress, _he thought smugly. _I'm going to beat your curse after all. Didn't think I could do it, did you? _

He thought of Genevieve and smiled. What a wonderful surprise it would be for her to find that she was marrying not a puny dwarf, but the strongest, handsomest, most desirable man imaginable. It would be like every Christmas and birthday of her life rolled into one, he thought. He pictured taking her back to Molyneaux with him. What a reception they would get! The legendary Gaston returned, and with a bride! The villagers would treat her like a queen - he would make certain of that. No one would ever dare say anything unkind to her again, not with him around. All the village men would insist their wives order their dresses from Madame Gaston. Her business would thrive.

And Gaston would be himself again, magnificent and awe-inspiring. All the villagers would look up to him and admire him. He would finally be able to hunt again. He would bring Genevieve all the venison she could eat. She could come with him on his hunting trips and cheer him on. Life would be perfect.

A shadow fell across the hourglass. Gaston looked up. Etienne stood over him, glowering. "It's payback time, pipsqueak," he growled.

Then a gleam caught his attention, and he noticed the golden hourglass. "What's that?"

Seeing Gaston tense, Etienne instantly realized that the object was important to him. Grinning evilly, he snatched the hourglass out of Gaston's hands before the dwarf could stop him. He stepped backward, out of range.

Gaston leaped up. "Give it back," he demanded.

"Come and get it," taunted Etienne.

Gaston grabbed for the hourglass, but Etienne easily held it out of reach. Gaston tried to jump up to get it, but he was just too short. Etienne laughed and tossed the hourglass from one hand to the other. Gaston's heart was in his mouth. His future, his whole _life, _was encased in the magical object.

Then it happened. The hourglass slipped from Etienne's hand and crashed to the ground, the glass bulbs shattering into a hundred pieces. The magical sand spilled out onto the ground, and vanished.


	11. Realization

CHAPTER 11

Gaston stared thunderstruck at the broken glass on the ground, unable to believe the catastrophe. "No..." he whispered. He fell to his knees and touched the earth where the sand had spilled, looking for any grain that might be left, just one... But it was gone. All gone.

Etienne looked at him impatiently, not understanding. So the dumb thing had broken. Big deal. "Come on!" he said aggressively. "Get up and fight."

Gaston didn't even look at him. He just kept staring at the remains of the hourglass, looking stunned. He picked up the pieces of broken glass, as if he could somehow fit them back together. But of course it was useless.

Etienne was starting to get spooked by the way Gaston kept staring at the broken pieces, as though Etienne wasn't even there. It gave him the creeps. Feeling suddenly uncertain, he backed away. _I'll deal with that little runt another time, _he told himself, and headed for home.

In a daze, Gaston stumbled into the inn and back to his room, and lay down on the bed. A sickening dread fell over him as the truth sank in. Just like that, it was all over. His dreams, his plans...gone.

He had survived the past five hellish years by clinging to the hope that he would eventually end the curse. At first, he had been certain of it: after all, he always won in the end, he had told himself. As long as there was a way to break the spell, he _would _break it. Even at his lowest point after Celeste, when he had believed that it was hopeless, he always knew in the back of his mind that he had time left - that as bad as things seemed, there was still that tiny possibility of redemption, no matter how remote. And of course, since meeting Genevieve, his hopes had soared. Finally, he had found the right girl to break the spell and end his nightmare.

But now the nightmare was permanent. There was no way he could ever return to his old life. It was gone forever.

The magnitude of his loss devastated him. He would never again know the awesome feeling of bringing down a magnificent buck with his gun from an impossible distance, or aiming his bow at a flock of geese flying overhead and letting the arrow fly at just the right moment, knowing it would unerringly hit its target. He would never be able to defend his girl's honor by punching out anyone who dared to insult her. He would never lift up an enormous boulder with one hand while admirers oohed and aahed. He would never win any more contests, or bring home any more trophies, or be the town hero. Not now. Not ever.

He would never again be strong and capable, confident that he could handle whatever situation came up. He would never walk down a street without the painful awareness that people were laughing at him. He would never even be able to simply look in the mirror and be glad at what he saw, instead of turning away in disgust.

He could no longer pretend to himself that this ugly form was just an illusion, like a costume that he would soon remove to reveal his true self. _This is who I really am, and always will be, _he thought desolately - _this weak, pathetic little nobody, a joke_. Everything that had once made him special was gone forever.

And Genevieve...she would never get to see what a magnificent person he had once been. How could he ever explain this to her?

Then he stopped short as realization hit him. Genevieve didn't _know_ about the curse. As far as she knew, he was nothing more than a puny dwarf. And yet...today she had looked at him as though he were a hero. He wasn't strong or handsome or impressive, but she had called him "amazing." She saw something special and worthy in him, even without his legendary strength.

She was expecting him for dinner tomorrow, he realized, feeling suddenly hopeful. She was going to give him her answer - whether she would marry him. And he _wanted _to marry her, curse or no curse. He wanted to wake up every day and see her smiling at him for the rest of his life. Suddenly he couldn't wait to see her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Genevieve was normally the calmest and most collected of people, but not tonight. She was flitting about her house in a tizzy, in an excited, flustered state totally out of character for her. As the hour grew late, she went to bed, but there was no way she could possibly sleep. She lay awake for hours, her mind racing.

He had asked her to marry him. She couldn't believe it. It seemed like a dream, but it was really happening.

Genevieve had never had a man in her life. After that village dance so many years ago, she had understood that her appearance meant she was unlikely to get married. So, with her usual practicality, and without self-pity, she had put aside her girlish dreams of romance and family, and focused on all the positive things in her life: her thriving career, her warm circle of friends, her many hobbies, her beloved dog and horses. She had even enjoyed the company of children, always happy to mind her friends' little ones when they needed a break. Her life had been full, and she had lived without regret, never looking back.

Gaston's appearance in her life had been a welcome surprise, and she had come to cherish his friendship. But she had reminded herself that he would be moving on soon, and refused to allow herself to dream or indulge in "what-ifs." She firmly believed in living in the "here and now." Life was less disappointing that way. She knew, with a pang, that she would miss him when he left, but she had tried to simply enjoy the time she had with him without expecting anything more.

But now, he had actually asked her to _marry_ him. It was incredible. And the way he had looked at her when he proposed...No one had ever looked at her that way. Like she was special. Like she was...beautiful.

She was still in awe of the way he had defended her honor against that brute Etienne. It was the most romantic thing she had ever seen. To her, the fact that was so small and weak himself only made his actions that much more brave and heroic.

He was the most amazing man she had ever known. And he loved _her. _What had she done to earn such happiness?

She smiled as she remembered the wonderful month they had spent together, how much she enjoyed his company, how close she felt to him. She loved his odd mixture of self-confidence and vulnerability - the way that he would proudly brag and boast about his many accomplishments, but then become so touchingly sweet and shy when he would ask if he could see her again. And then look so happy when she said yes, as though she'd given him a present.

Even his appearance, which would be a negative to anyone else, was a positive to her. Like her, he knew how it felt to be different. It was just one more bond they shared. Together they would laugh at idiots like Etienne, she thought, smiling.

Oh, there was so much to do, so much to think about! Would Gaston continue peddling around France, she wondered, or would he want to give it up and settle down? If he continued peddling, should she travel with him, or hold down the fort at home? And if he did quit travelling, would they settle here in Reillanne, or in his home town? She knew he was homesick for his tiny village. She was open to the possibility of moving, but she would have to visit the place first to make sure she liked it, she thought.

And then there was the wedding itself. She couldn't help smiling at the idea of making her own wedding gown. She had made beautiful, frothy concoctions for countless brides, but never, ever thought she would have the opportunity to create her own. And she would make a wedding suit for Gaston too, she thought - something truly fine and special.

She hugged herself with excitement. It was all too wonderful.

She looked out the window. The night had finally passed, and dawn was breaking. Genevieve let out a sigh of frustration. Why on earth had she told him to come for _dinner?_ It was an eternity away. She should have told him to come for _breakfast._ She could have made him those eggs that he liked so much. She felt as though she couldn't wait one more second to see him and tell him her answer. This was going to be the longest day of her life, she thought.

Throughout the day, Genevieve tried to keep busy with sewing, gardening and cooking, but she couldn't focus on anything. The hours passed so slowly, it felt to her as though time had stopped.

Finally it was 6:00. She watched for him at the window. There he was! Her heart was beating so fast, she thought he must hear it. She opened the door before he could even knock.

He smiled shyly and held out a bouquet of roses. "Thank you," she said, beaming. God, how she loved him. She put them in a vase on the kitchen table.

He followed her in. "Genevieve?" he asked hesitantly. He was suddenly nervous. Maybe she would say no. "Have you thought about it? Will you...?"

"YES!" she burst out before he could finish. "Yes, I'll marry you."

He was overcome with relief and happiness. "Oh, Genevieve, I love you."

"I love you too, Gaston," she said joyfully. She embraced him and kissed him.

But...but...something was different. Something was wrong. Genevieve let go of him, looked up, and screamed.

Gaston was gone. In his place was a tall, handsome man she had never seen before.


	12. Surprise

CHAPTER 12

During the kiss, Gaston suddenly felt himself changing. His puny arms began to swell, developing rock-hard biceps and triceps. He felt a tingling in his scalp as long, thick black hair flowed out of it. His chest expanded, the muscles rippling impressively. He felt himself growing taller, his legs lengthening.

He staggered back, completely disoriented. He was momentarily dizzy as he saw the ground suddenly so far away. Then he heard Genevieve scream. He looked up sharply, blinking in surprise at the unaccustomed height of his new viewpoint. Confused, he looked down at her - _down, not up, _he realized in amazement. Her face mirrored the shock that he felt.

Gradually the truth began to dawn on him, filling him with unbelievable joy. Could it really be possible...?

He ran eagerly to her full-length mirror to check his reflection. There it was - his own beautiful face! He could have kissed it. "Look at me!" he said joyfully. "Have you ever seen anything so _gorgeous?"_

Genevieve was still in shock, her mind reeling. She watched in utter bewilderment as the tall stranger preened in front of her mirror.

Finally she found her voice. "Who _are _you?" she demanded. "Where's Gaston?"

_"I'm_ Gaston!" he said, laughing in sheer relief. He picked her up and swung her around gleefully, not noticing the way she stiffened at his touch. "I've been under a magic spell all this time," he explained. "This is who I _really _am. Look! Look what I can do!" He grabbed a leg of the sofa and easily hoisted it over his head with one hand. Genevieve's eyes widened. "Aren't I amazing?"

It was so wonderful to feel that familiar sense of power again, to know that he could easily do anything he wished. He felt like he could move mountains. He wished he had his bow and arrows here right now - he couldn't wait to try out his marksmanship skills.

Genevieve was staring at him in disbelief, trying to absorb this impossible concept. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she asked. "How could you keep this a secret?"

"You wouldn't have believed me," he pointed out, putting the sofa down. He shook his head ruefully. "I tried telling other girls I was under a spell, and that if they loved me, I'd become tall and handsome. They just laughed."

Genevieve looked dismayed at the mention of "other girls," but Gaston was too wrapped up in his own happiness to notice. He sat down on the sofa with a sigh of relief, stretching out his long legs. "What a horrible experience! I can't believe it's really over. Can you imagine? Someone as unbelievably handsome as me, suddenly becoming so ugly? And then having to get someone to _love_ me, looking like that? I'd just about given up hope until I met you."

Genevieve felt suddenly cold inside. "Yes," she said softly. "It must be very hard for anyone to love someone so ugly."

"That's for sure," agreed Gaston cheerfully, completely oblivious to the effect his words were having on her. He thought of all the pretty but cold and heartless girls who had sneered at him during his long quest, until he'd finally found his true love. He smiled affectionately at her, thinking how lucky he was to have found her.

She should hear all about how long and hard he had searched for her, he thought suddenly - how, out of all the women in France, she was the one girl special enough to see past his ugly appearance and love him for who he was. It was a wonderfully romantic story, just like a fairy tale - except that this time, the beautiful girls were the villains, and _she _was the kind, good princess who won the heart of the handsome hero. She'd like that, he thought.

"I must have tried to charm hundreds of girls over the years!" he began, leaning forward to tell her the story. "There was one girl, Celeste - she was beautiful, but all she cared about was money. I tried to win her over with jewelry and fancy dinners. She loved all the presents I bought her, and she even said she'd marry me. I thought _that _would do the trick for sure. But it didn't, because she didn't really love me."

He went on telling her about all the women who had spurned him as he sought to break the spell. Genevieve bit her lip, struggling to hide the pain in her heart. Every word he spoke felt like a dagger to her. He didn't care about her at all, she realized dismally. She was merely the latest in the endless parade of girls he'd wooed, hoping to end his curse.

What a fool she'd been, to actually believe that someone loved her - to think she would have her own happy ending. She should have known it was too good to be true. She thought of how joyful she'd been only the day before, flitting around her house like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. _I will NOT cry in front of him_, she thought fiercely.

"And then I met you--" Gaston was saying.

"--and you figured that someone like me wouldn't reject you," she finished in a bitter tone that went right over his head. _Because no one else would want me_.

"Right. You didn't turn me away just because of my looks. And _you_ finally broke the spell!" he finished triumphantly. He couldn't stop smiling. He had finally changed back to his true magnificent self, _and _he was going to marry the most incredible, wonderful girl in the world. Life didn't get better than this.

He jumped up, too excited to sit still. He paced around the sitting room, eager and restless, his huge frame filling the small space.

"But I'm not sure _how _you broke the spell," he mused. "I had a magic hourglass - the Enchantress said it would mark the next 10 years. I had to find love before the sand ran out. But the hourglass broke last night. _All _the sand ran out. I didn't think I could break the spell after that."

Genevieve thought about it. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" she said. "You just said you had 10 years to break the spell, and the hourglass was marking the time. Breaking the hourglass didn't affect the spell. It just meant you wouldn't know exactly when your time was up."

"Oh," said Gaston. He didn't really get it, but it wasn't important. All that mattered was that he was himself again.

Then he finally noticed that she wasn't smiling. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Everything's fine now. This is the real me, don't you understand?"

"Oh, I understand. I understand everything," said Genevieve. Her voice sounded oddly flat. "You're not really a dwarf. You're really this...this he-man," she said, gesturing at his muscles. He grinned and flexed them, admiring himself in the mirror.

She went on, "You needed to get someone to love you to break the spell. But no girls would give you the time of day, looking like you did. So you picked me, a homely girl, because you figured I'd be desperate and wouldn't turn you down."

"Yes!" said Gaston, pleased that she grasped the situation. Then he saw her expression. "I mean, _NO!_ I mean...well...at first it _was_ like that," he admitted. "But now I really love you," he added quickly, to remind her of what mattered. After all, his first impression of her wasn't important, he thought dismissively; what was important was the way he felt _now._

But to her, his declaration of love was unconvincing, a hasty afterthought to save face. She barely noticed it. She was too devastated at having her initial fear confirmed.

He had_ used_ her. He'd freely admitted it. That whole wonderful month they'd spent together...it was all a lie, she thought, her heart as heavy as lead. He had never loved her. He hadn't thought she was special. He had chosen her only because he thought she was so ugly and pathetic that she wouldn't refuse him.

Gaston looked at her in confusion, not knowing what was bothering her. "Come on, Gen," he urged, wanting her to share his happiness. "Don't you see how _great_ this is? This is your lucky day! You thought you were marrying a puny dwarf. But instead, you get _me!" _He beamed proudly and lifted her kitchen table up in the air with one hand like it was a feather.

She didn't feel lucky. "So why did this Enchantress put a spell on you, anyway?"

He put the table down. "She said I was too conceited and selfish."

"Really?" said Genevieve dryly. "I can't imagine why."

"Oh, but I'm not like that now!" he reassured her. "I've changed, see?"

She didn't look convinced.

Gaston couldn't understand why she was upset. Her fiancé had changed from a repulsive dwarf to a handsome hunk. She should be _thrilled._ His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle it out.

Then he remembered the way all the girls had idolized him before the curse. Suddenly he thought he understood.

"Oh, I get it! Now that I'm so incredibly gorgeous, you're worried that you're not _good_ enough for me anymore!" he said, pleased that he'd figured it out. He smiled reassuringly. "But it's okay, really. It's true that I _used _to only want to marry the most beautiful girl in town. But now, I don't! I told you, I've changed. Even though I'm irresistibly handsome again, and all the girls will be swooning over me, I'm still going to marry _you._ So you don't have to worry at all." He smiled his dazzling, heart-stopping smile at her, confident that he had solved the problem.

Genevieve stared at him, feeling utterly humiliated. It was obvious to her that he thought she was ugly, and to his conceited mind, certainly not worthy of someone as magnificent as himself. But he pitied her, and since she had broken the spell for him, he was going to nobly keep his word and marry her, even though he clearly thought she wasn't "good enough" for him.

And then, satisfied that he'd fulfilled his obligation to her by marrying her, he would no doubt go off and indulge in all the "swooning girls" he'd bragged about. _Just like my father, _she thought, her heart breaking.

She stood there, so overcome with hurt and betrayal that she couldn't speak.

There was no way she would marry him now, she told herself firmly. She was_ not_ some charity case, to be married out of pity. She wasn't desperate, whatever he might think.

She looked at him, so smug and condescending, no doubt expecting her to fall at his feet in gratitude. She took a deep breath. "Get out. Now," she said coldly.

His smile faded. "What did I say?"

"Just go," she repeated firmly. "I never want to see you again."

He looked hurt. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy. I want to marry you."

"But I don't want to marry _you_," she said, trying to hide her pain. "Go home. Take your bulging muscles and your chiseled features somewhere else. I'm sure all the beautiful girls will be thrilled to have you back."

"Of _course _they will," he said. "But I don't want them. I want _you."_

"Well, you can't always have what you want," she said, pushing him out the door and slamming it.

Gaston stood outside, utterly bewildered. He couldn't understand what had just happened. This was supposed to be their happy-ever-after. What had gone wrong? Why was she so upset?

On the other side of the door, Genevieve was shaking. She couldn't believe this was happening. When he'd proposed, she had been happier than she had ever believed possible. But it was all a lie. The sweet, funny-looking dwarf she had loved didn't exist. There was just this handsome, conniving scoundrel who had coldly preyed on her emotions to get what he wanted.

Gaston was pounding on the door. "Genevieve, come on. This is ridiculous! You said you would marry me!"

Genevieve held her hands over her ears, wishing he would just go away and leave her to her grief. She didn't want to look at him or face him. But he wouldn't leave. He kept banging on the door, calling her name.

Finally she opened it. Gaston was relieved. "Come to your senses, have you?" he said, grinning.

"Yes," she said, her voice unnaturally calm. "I _have _come to my senses. I see everything very clearly now. And I am _not _going to marry you. I'm sure you're not used to hearing the word 'no' from women, but you're hearing it now. So please leave me alone." She closed the door.

Gaston was stunned. She was ending it? Just like that?

"But...but I love you," he whispered.

Just minutes earlier, he had been on top of the world. He had been so thrilled when she agreed to marry him, and then he had felt the unexpected joy of returning to his true self. For that one moment, his life had been as perfect as it could possibly be. How had he managed to completely destroy her love for him in less than five minutes?

He stared at the closed door in frustration. He knew he could break it down easily, now that he was himself again. But he didn't think she'd react too well to that. So he just stood there, not knowing what to do.

He thought back to the time Belle had turned down his proposal. Back then he had been outraged, and immediately started concocting plots to force her to marry him regardless of what she wanted. But he had no desire for such schemes now. He loved Genevieve. He wanted her to marry him because it was what she wanted, too. Because she loved _him._

But...if she _didn't _love him...if she didn't want to marry him...then there was nothing he could do, he realized in dismay. He couldn't _make _her love him. He was powerless.

She had said "no." With that one tiny word, she was out of his life forever.

It was a terrible feeling, cold and hollow, like losing a part of himself. Like the day he'd been cursed.

He stood on the doorstep, unable to cope with the overwhelming sense of loss. She was the only woman he had ever truly cared about, the woman he wanted to share his life with.

But she didn't want him.

At last he straightened up and squared his shoulders. _Fine,_ he thought defensively. He'd finally gotten his miracle, after all. He was Gaston again, the _real _Gaston. He would go back home and regain his rightful place in the world. And he would be surrounded by adoring girls who _did _want him. He didn't need Genevieve, he told himself.

But despite his bravado, he lingered on the doorstep a long time, unwilling to leave. He reached out and touched the door gently, as though willing it to open. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he turned and left.

Inside, Genevieve listened to the silence, and eventually dared to peek out the window. He was gone.

_Good riddance, _she thought, trying to ignore the sorrow that washed over her. He was a vile cad. She had been perfectly content before she met him, never expecting to have romance in her life. But he had tricked her into opening her heart to him, made her believe for the first time that someone could love her after all - that fairy tales could come true for her too. He had broken her heart, for his own selfish ends.

She remembered how he had boasted of all the beautiful girls who would swoon over him. _Well, those girls can have him_, she thought. She certainly didn't want a deceitful, egotistical man who thought she was beneath him, merely because of the way she looked.

And she most definitely was _not _going to end up like her mother, waiting forlornly at home by the window while her handsome husband was out carousing with other women, smug in the knowledge that he could seduce any girl with his heartthrob looks. Genevieve deserved better than that. She deserved a husband who would have eyes only for _her._ If she couldn't have that, she'd rather not marry at all.

She'd had a lucky escape. _I'm glad he's gone,_ she told herself.

She refused to acknowledge the traitorous tears that rolled down her cheeks.


	13. Aftermath

CHAPTER 13

Gaston wandered aimlessly through the town in the twilight, heartbroken and miserable. He was vaguely aware of the admiring stares and whispers he was attracting, but it barely registered. For five years he had longed for the day when he could once again bask in the adoration of others. But now that it had come, he didn't care.

The pure joy he had felt at regaining his true form had drained away. All his legendary strength, his incomparable looks, his amazing skills and prowess - none of it was enough to win back the only girl he'd ever loved. So what was the point?

He passed a group of pretty young women on their way home. They turned to stare at him, whispering excitedly to each other. "Oh my God, look at that guy! He's _gorgeous!"_

"Did you see those muscles?"

"I think I'm in love!"

One girl, bolder than the rest, broke away from the pack and ran up to him, placing herself right in his path so he had to stop. She was a blue-eyed beauty with long, shiny black hair. "Hello, handsome," she cooed, smiling. "You must be new in town. Why don't I give you a tour?"

He looked at her without interest. There was only one girl he wanted, and she wasn't it. "No, thank you," he said distantly, and walked around her, leaving her standing there looking offended.

He spied the local tavern up ahead. A stiff drink sounded good right now. He entered, paid for a full bottle of whiskey, and took it and a shot glass to a corner table.

He sat there alone, wondering how things could have gone so horribly wrong. Only yesterday, Genevieve had looked at him like he was the most wonderful person in the world, despite his ugliness. She had called him "amazing." Even today - just half an hour earlier - she had accepted his proposal, her eyes shining with happiness. She had loved him then, he knew.

Then he had changed back, and she was shocked...but he hadn't lost her then. Not yet. The problems had started when he'd opened his mouth to explain it to her. He still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. But he knew he'd said everything wrong, somehow, and the more he'd tried to reassure her, the more upset she got. He winced, remembering the way she had looked at him just before she slammed the door. It was exactly the way Belle had looked at him when she had called him a monster.

He sighed. All he had wanted was to make Genevieve happy. She deserved to be happy. But instead, he had ruined everything. She hated him now. And he would never see her again.

He threw back another shot of whiskey. Being six foot four and 250 lbs. had one major drawback, he thought ruefully: it was much harder to get drunk. If he were still a dwarf, he'd be under the table by now, mercifully oblivious. As it was, the pain in his heart was as sharp as ever, undimmed by any alcoholic haze.

The tavern door opened. Gaston, lost in gloomy thoughts, didn't pay attention until he heard an all-too-familiar voice calling loudly for ale. He looked up sharply and saw Etienne standing near the bar.

Gaston's blood boiled at the mere sight of him, remembering how he had taunted Genevieve so cruelly, and smashed the hourglass that might have sealed Gaston's fate. As a dwarf, Gaston wasn't able to do much about it, but now he could. He got up and stormed over to Etienne. "_You," _he hissed.

Etienne turned and looked in confusion at the stranger. "What?"

Without a word, Gaston punched him hard in the jaw. Etienne fell backward, arms windmilling, and landed on the floor. The bar fell silent as all eyes turned to see what was happening. But no one intervened. Etienne was a nasty piece of work, a bully and a hooligan, and none of the men felt particularly inclined to rush to his aid.

Enraged by the punch, Etienne was about to jump up with fists flying. But then he saw just how much bigger and stronger than himself Gaston was, and thought better of it. Instead, he stayed on the floor, rubbing his jaw, and whined, "What was _that _for? I didn't do nothing to you."

Gaston grabbed his shirt front and hauled him up. "That's for Genevieve," he said menacingly. "I'm a friend of hers, and I don't like the way you talk to her." He drew back his fist for another punch.

"Wait!" cried Etienne hastily. "I-I'm sorry, okay? I was just fooling around. I didn't mean nothing by it. Don't hit me!" he added quickly, cringing with his arms protectively over his head.

_What a coward, _Gaston thought. But he hesitated.

The brute deserved to be taught a lesson. And in the mood Gaston was in, it would feel good to work out his frustrations by beating the living daylights out of him. In the past, he wouldn't even have thought twice about it.

But now...he just didn't feel right, beating up a guy who was cowering and begging him not to.

Still gripping Etienne's shirt, he pulled him up close, glaring directly into his eyes. Etienne whimpered fearfully. "From now on, you're going to be polite to her and treat her with respect," Gaston said threateningly. "If you so much as _look_ at her wrong, I'll find out, and I'll make you regret it."

Etienne nodded vigorously. "Okay, okay! Sure!"

"And the next time you see her, you're going to tell her you're sorry for every rude thing you've ever said to her," Gaston insisted.

Etienne hesitated, but seeing the dangerous look in Gaston's eye, quickly capitulated. "All right, I'll tell her I'm sorry! Anything you say!" He looked up nervously. "Can...can I go now?"

Gaston shoved him to the floor contemptuously. Etienne scrambled up and ran out the door.

One of the men said, "Hey, good going, buddy. He's been asking for that for years." The other men nodded in agreement. The bartender poured Gaston a drink and said, "Here, this is on the house."

Putting Etienne in his place, and being congratulated for it, made Gaston feel a bit more cheerful. At least now Genevieve wouldn't have to deal with the oaf. He grinned as he thought of how quickly Etienne's bravado had crumbled. He couldn't wait to tell Genevieve about it.

Then he remembered, and his broad shoulders sagged. He couldn't tell her anything anymore. She didn't want to see him ever again.

He looked around the tavern, and suddenly felt that he couldn't bear to stay in Reillanne one more minute. There was nothing here for him now, and everything reminded him of her. He strode back to the inn, threw his things haphazardly into the rucksack, and hitched Henri up to the wagon, heedless of the late hour.

It was time to go home.


	14. Coming Home

CHAPTER 14

It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon in Molyneaux. Church was over for the day. The women stood around gossipping, while the men sat on the porch outside the general store, enjoying the pleasantly cool, sunny late October weather.

"How was your hunting trip yesterday, Francois?" asked Claude. "Get anything?"

"Couple of rabbits, that was it," Francois replied with a shrug. "I almost got an elk, though. Big one, too - must have weighed close to 800 pounds. But I missed." He sighed in frustration. "He was just too far away - I couldn't make the shot."

LeFou said what they were all thinking. "Gaston would have gotten it." They all nodded reverently. In the five years since his mysterious disappearance, Gaston had become something of a local legend, an almost mythical, Paul Bunyanesque figure.

LeFou was holding his 4-year-old son, Denis, on his lap. Hearing the name Gaston mentioned, the little boy looked up. "Papa, tell me the story about Gaston!" It was his favorite story.

LeFou smiled. "All right." The other men leaned forward to listen as well.

"Gaston was the biggest, strongest man you could ever imagine," LeFou began. "You never saw anyone like him. He could do _anything - _shoot an arrow straight and true, hit any target with his gun, outwrestle any man, ride any wild horse. He was the greatest hunter in the whole world. That wall of trophies in the tavern - those were all Gaston's. He never missed. He was the handsomest man in town too - all the girls wanted to marry him. And he was brave. He wasn't afraid of anything. Gaston was a real hero." He was silent a moment, remembering. He still missed Gaston.

The boy bounced up and down excitedly. "Now tell about the Beast!"

"I'm getting to that!" said LeFou. "Okay. In the forest, there's a big castle. The prince and princess live there now. But back then, it was empty - well, almost empty. No person lived there...but a monster did, a big, ferocious Beast. No one knows how he got there. Some people think he found the castle empty while the prince was away, and moved in. Others think the Beast was the _reason _the prince left - that he went on a quest to find some magical way to get rid of the Beast. Whatever the reason, the Beast was there. But we didn't know about it. Not until Belle disappeared."

"The princess!" said the boy eagerly.

"Yes, the princess," agreed LeFou. "But she wasn't a princess then. She was just a girl from the village. Her father came running into the tavern one night and told us that a Beast had locked Belle in a dungeon. But we didn't believe him. It was such a crazy story, we thought he was just imagining things.

"Belle was gone almost the whole winter," LeFou went on. He couldn't help shivering when he remembered that awful winter. He'd spent a good chunk of it freezing outside Belle's house waiting for her to come back, so Gaston could have Maurice committed to the insane asylum and blackmail Belle into marrying him. But LeFou always left out that part of the story.

"Then one day, Belle escaped from the Beast and came back to the village," LeFou continued. "She had a magic mirror, and she used it to show us the Beast. It was huge - about 10 feet tall, covered in fur, and really ugly, with a loud roar and deadly fangs and sharp claws."

"Were you scared, Papa?" asked the child.

"Well...just a little bit," LeFou admitted. "All of us were. But not Gaston. He wasn't afraid of _anything._ He told us we had to go to the castle and kill the monster, so our village would be safe. He led the way, and we followed him.

"It was a dark and rainy night as we made our way to the castle," he continued. "When we got inside, the place seemed empty at first. But then, the Beast used magic to make all the objects attack us! Candles blew flame at us, sharp knives threw themselves at us, teacups poured boiling water on us. We had to run for our lives! But not Gaston. He'd come for the Beast, and he wasn't leaving without him."

"Wow," said the boy, scarcely breathing. "Did Gaston kill the Beast?"

"No," said LeFou. "At least, not then. He fought the monster, and he won - well, of course he did, he was Gaston. But then he had an idea. Instead of killing it, he decided to capture it. He thought it would make our village famous, and that people would come from miles around to see it.

"So he came back to the village that night, and he had the Beast with him on a cart. It was unconscious, but still scary for all that. He kept it in a cage in his basement. He thought he could tame it in time, make it obey his commands. He was like that, Gaston. Always confident."

LeFou leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But three days later, he disappeared. Pierre went to his house to look for him. The cage was open. The Beast was gone, and so was Gaston. Neither of them was ever seen again."

"What happened to them?" asked the boy.

LeFou sighed. "No one knows," he said. "It's a mystery. We think the Beast must have escaped, and Gaston went after it, and they probably fought to the death and killed each other. But we never found out for sure. Soon after that, the prince returned to the castle, and married Belle, and that was it. But we never forgot Gaston."

"He was one of a kind, all right," said Claude, and the other men nodded. The women nearby sighed dreamily, remembering the unbelievably handsome man they'd so often swooned over. There was a moment of silence.

Then Bambi looked up. "Oh, look!" she said with anticipation. "A peddler's wagon!" Sure enough, a large, horse-drawn wagon was coming up the path that led to the marketplace.

All the villagers came forward eagerly. Peddlers did not often visit the tiny village, and when one did, it was a welcome novelty.

LeFou was the first to notice the driver. His face went as pale as if he had seen a ghost. "It's _Gaston!"_ he cried. All the villagers gasped in shock.

For several minutes, the town square was eerily silent, everyone staring open-mouthed at the apparition. Then the entire population of the little village rushed noisily forward and surrounded the wagon with cheers and excited shouts of "Gaston! Gaston!

Gaston grinned, pleased at the commotion. He loved to make a big entrance.

"Hello, everyone," he said, as casually as if he had only been gone a day or two. "What'd I miss?"

"Where WERE you?" cried LeFou. "And what's all this stuff?" he added, pointing at the wagon full of all kinds of wares.

"Presents for everyone!" Gaston proclaimed grandly, waving his arm over the wagon. His days as a peddler were over anyway; he might as well give all the merchandise away in a kingly show of generosity that would be talked about for years. He jumped down and began handing out gifts to the townspeople as though he were Santa Claus: pipes, tobacco, tools, and silk handkerchiefs for the men; sunbonnets, bracelets, necklaces, and bottles of perfume for the women; toys for the children. The people eagerly took the presents and chattered excitedly to each other.

Gaston handed LeFou a silver pocket watch, similar to the one he'd given the farmer years earlier. "Thanks," said LeFou, still trying to get over the shock. "I just can't believe it's really you, after all this time! We all thought you were dead."

"You should have known I couldn't be defeated_ that_ easily," Gaston admonished.

"But what about the Beast? Did you kill him?" LeFou asked.

Hmm. Apparently they didn't know the prince's secret. Gaston hesitated, wondering what he should say. "The Beast is gone," he said slowly. Then, in a burst of inspiration, he added, "The prince got rid of him." It was true enough, in its own way. The villagers looked relieved to hear it.

"I'm just so glad you're back!" said LeFou. "The town hasn't been the same without you."

"Well, of course not. How could it be?" said Gaston. He grinned at LeFou. "I missed you too."

"Really?" LeFou was thrilled to hear it.

Gaston nodded. "So, what's been happening? What was the big news in town while I was gone? Aside from me being gone," he added.

"Well..." LeFou suddenly looked nervous. "Belle got married." He braced himself for a thunderous outburst.

But Gaston just shrugged. "I know," was all he said. "What else?"

LeFou was surprised at the lack of reaction. But he continued, trying to think of things that would be relevant to Gaston. "Uh...Tristan's gotten really hard to handle, even worse than before. I've been taking care of him, but he bites and kicks a lot, and won't let anyone touch him. I don't know if you'll be able to ride him again."

"I'll ride him," Gaston said dismissively. He had broken the horse once; he knew he could do it again.

"And, your house is gonna need repairs," LeFou continued. "The roof is leaking, and some of the windows are broken, and it's gotta be really dusty by now. No one has gone near it for five years."

"Why not?" asked Gaston, puzzled.

LeFou looked embarrassed. "Well...we were afraid it might be haunted. Since you disappeared so mysteriously, and we thought you were dead and all."

Gaston shook his head in amusement. He'd forgotten how small-minded and superstitious the villagers could be. "I'll fix it up," he said. "How about you? How have you been?"

LeFou beamed. "I got married!" he burst out happily. He waved over a young, dark-haired woman, who walked over to LeFou, smiling and holding the little boy's hand. "This is Amelie - my wife," LeFou said, putting his arm around her.

"That's great," said Gaston. Looking at the happy couple, he felt a pang. Genevieve should have been here beside him, sharing in his triumphant return. But he pushed the thought away and said, "Congratulations." He only vaguely recognized LeFou's wife from his earlier life in the village: she was nice-looking, but not beautiful enough to have caught his eye back then, and she was shy and gentle, not one of the bold girls who used to follow Gaston around, flirting shamelessly.

"And this is my son, Denis," said LeFou proudly, patting his boy's head.

"Glad to meet you," said Gaston. He reached into the wagon and handed the boy a toy bow and arrow. "Think you can use this?"

"Wow, thanks!" said the little boy, looking up at him with awe.

"So where _were _you all this time?" asked LeFou.

"It's a long story," said Gaston. "But if you want to hear it..."

The townspeople all nodded with excitement. The tavern was immediately opened up for business - not normal for a Sunday, it being the Lord's day, but on such a special occasion, no one complained. They all piled inside, all the men vying to be the first to buy the returning hero a drink.

Gaston settled into his old chair, covered with fur and hide. LeFou raced up to him, carrying two mugs of beer. But as he reached the chair, he tripped and went sprawling onto the floor. The mugs flew out of his hand, the beer splashing onto Gaston's shirt.

Gaston immediately stood up, rising to his full imposing height. LeFou instinctively cringed, expecting a blow. But Gaston just picked the little man up and set him on his feet. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Uh...yeah," said LeFou, stunned. That wasn't like Gaston at all.

"Good," said Gaston. He dabbed at his shirt with a handkerchief, and sat down again. "Now then. You asked where I've been for five years..." He paused dramatically to let the suspense build.

The villagers gathered around eagerly to listen. They had missed hearing Gaston tell of his exploits. He had always been a great storyteller - as long as the stories were about him.

"An Enchantress cast a terrible magic spell on me," Gaston proclaimed. "She turned me into a tiny dwarf. I had to go on a long and dangerous quest to break the spell."

The townspeople looked at each other with dawning realization, followed by guilty expressions. "The dwarf that came in here that night - that was _you?" _gasped Francois. He remembered uneasily that he had punched the dwarf clear across the room. He gulped, wondering what Gaston would do to him.

"Yes, that was me," said Gaston calmly, enjoying their consternation. He didn't feel the need for violent revenge anymore - but he wasn't above making them feel guilty for treating him so badly.

Bambi, Bunny and Bubbles looked at each other in horror. "Gaston asked us to kiss him - and we turned him _down!" _wailed Bunny.

LeFou looked sick with remorse. "Gosh, Gaston - we didn't _know!" _he said worriedly. "We're all really sorry, aren't we, guys?" They all nodded apologetically.

Gaston waved a hand magnanimously, although at the time, he'd been ready to kill them all for their insolence. "It's all right. It doesn't matter now." They looked relieved.

"So where did you go?" LeFou asked. Everyone leaned forward to listen with rapt attention.

Gaston easily spun his hellish five years as a dwarf into a grand adventure. In his version, it was an exciting tale of a hero who, robbed of his legendary strength, relied only on his bravery and his wits to triumph over insurmountable odds and life-threatening peril. It was just a matter of leaving out certain facts and embellishing others. He told them how, nearly penniless, he'd turned his last few coins into a wildly successful peddling business, earning riches beyond imagination. He told them of dazzling and winning the incomparably beautiful Celeste, only to leave her sobbing and heartbroken when it was time for him to move on. He told of outwitting the thuggish, gorilla-like Etienne and sending the brute splashing ignominiously into the lake. The villagers hung on his every word, their eyes round as saucers.

He didn't mention Genevieve at all.

Then Francois asked the question. "How did you finally break the spell?"

Gaston hesitated. He wasn't willing to share something so personal. "There was only one person in all of France who could break it," he said finally. "I had to search for years to find her."

"A magical person?" asked Claude.

"Yes," said Gaston. _She was to me, _he thought"Eventually I found her, and she changed me back." He left it at that. The villagers were surprised that he didn't elaborate, but assumed he meant another enchantress or sorceress.

The story finished, Gaston bought rounds of drinks for everyone in town. A dozen girls flocked around him as he sat on the fur-and-hide-covered chair. Most of his original admirers were married now, and watched him longingly, sighing with regret as they stood beside their husbands. But their younger sisters were more than willing to take their place. Five years ago, these young maidens had had schoolgirl crushes on him, watching him from afar with dreamy sighs. Now they were age 18 to 21, marriageable young women, and thrilled that the town's most eligible bachelor had returned so unexpectedly. Gaston was 26 now, even more gorgeous than they remembered, and best of all, still single and available.

"We all missed you so much," cooed a beautiful blonde whose name Gaston couldn't recall, leaning over his shoulder.

"No one in town is as handsome as you, Gaston," purred a lovely girl with long auburn hair, sitting on the floor in front of the chair and looking up adoringly at him.

Gaston tried to enjoy all the female attention, as he had in the past. But he couldn't ignore the uncomfortable awareness that all these swooning girls ready to proclaim undying love for him now wouldn't even want to _talk_ to him if he were still a dwarf. He had been the exact same person then, but girls like this had sneered at him and found him repulsive.

They were in love with his handsome appearance, he knew - not with him. Before the curse, that hadn't been a problem: after all, back then no one had worshipped Gaston for his looks more than Gaston himself. But now, their superficial adoration wasn't enough to satisfy him.

He didn't want to think about Genevieve. But surrounded by simpering fans, he couldn't help remembering how different she had been - her genuine warmth and caring versus their shallow flattery; the way she truly _listened _to his words and considered them seriously instead of automatically agreeing eagerly with whatever he said; the close connection he had felt with her.

At that moment, he missed her with a longing so fierce it was like physical pain. Everyone in the village idolized and admired him...but it suddenly occurred to him that Genevieve was the only person he'd ever met who had genuinely _liked _him. Liked the person he was inside, regardless of what he looked like or how much weight he could lift.

As though reading his mind, one of the girls called out, "Gaston, lift some weights for us! Let's see those muscles!" The other villagers eagerly cheered him on, delighted at the chance to witness one of his legendary shows of strength.

"Of course," said Gaston immediately, pushing the uneasy thoughts away. "It must have been very dull around here without my amazing feats to watch!" He jumped up and grabbed the leg of a bench where several girls were sitting, easily hoisting bench and girls up in the air with one hand. The girls squealed in delight, and the villagers exclaimed in admiration.

Gaston spent the rest of the day showing off, basking in the attention, and trying to ignore the emptiness he felt inside.

o o o o o o o o

Genevieve sat by the lake, holding a fishing pole. It was the kind of perfect, sunny day that seemed made for fishing. Normally she'd be having a lovely, relaxing time, enjoying the quiet and the gentle breezes. But today, it wasn't the same.

She couldn't help remembering the last time she'd been fishing. Gaston had been with her then. It had been a wonderful day. They had sat there so companionably, talking for hours. He had caught four fish, and she had caught three. And of course, he had bragged about what a great fisherman he was, and told her stories of all the big ones he'd caught in the past.

She smiled at the memory. She had found his constant bragging to be endearing back then - just one of the little quirks that made him who he was. She had enjoyed all his colorful stories, and was amused at his shameless exaggerations. And she had been flattered to see that he obviously wanted so much to impress her.

But of course, he had _needed _to impress her, so she would break the spell, she thought, her smile fading. She sighed. It was still so painful to face the cold hard fact that he had been merely putting on an act all along. The closeness she'd felt to him, his obvious pleasure in her company, the way he had looked at her when he proposed...how could it all be fake? But he _had _tried to woo hundreds of other girls over the years, she reminded herself sadly. Apparently, he'd had time to perfect his technique.

She wanted to hate him for what he'd done. But it was hard, when she missed him so much. In a way, she supposed she should be grateful to him. Whatever his motives had been, he had given her the happiest month of her entire life. And she had found out what it felt like to be in love. She doubted she would ever feel that way about anyone again. For a little while, she had been allowed to experience the wonderful feeling of being loved and cherished, even if it wasn't real.

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She brushed them away, trying to be strong. _It will get better, _she told herself. She had survived other painful experiences in her life, and she would survive this too. The pain would fade in time. It wouldn't disappear, but it would become bearable. At least, she hoped it would.

The fish weren't biting today, and she was having a miserable time, so she decided to pack it up. Heading for home, she saw a figure walking toward her. She groaned. It was Etienne. _Great, _she thought. _The perfect end to a perfect day._

He came up to her. She braced herself for his latest obnoxious comment. But to her surprise, he looked hesitant. She waited, wondering what was up.

Finally he blurted, "I'm sorry I was mean to you!" The words came out in a rush.

Genevieve was speechless. "Um...okay," she finally said.

Etienne let out a breath. "All right, I said it," he said, clearly relieved to have that over with. "You make sure to tell your friend that."

"What friend?" Genevieve asked, bewildered.

Etienne shuddered. "That big guy with the black hair. You tell him I said I was sorry, and I'm not bothering you anymore. I don't want any trouble." Without another word, he loped off.

Genevieve stood there, stunned. Had Gaston threatened Etienne - forced him to apologize and to stop bothering her? He must have. But why? His spell had already been broken; he had nothing more to gain by impressing her now.

Her heart quickened with a flash of hope. But she told herself firmly not to jump to conclusions. It didn't mean he loved her, after all. It was probably just a gesture of gratitude - his way of saying "Thank you" for ending his curse.

But even if that _was _all it was...still, it was nice of him, she had to admit. He couldn't be the totally selfish, cold-hearted scoundrel she had thought he was, if he was doing her a favor without getting anything back. And he must have liked her a _little _bit, surely, to want to do something for her?

She thought back to the time Gaston had confronted Etienne while still a dwarf. Lately she had assumed he had just been trying to impress her, so she would fall in love with him and break the spell. But as she turned it over in her mind, she realized that regardless of his motive, the fact remained that he had put himself in very real danger, just to defend her honor. He had been only a tiny, frail dwarf, and Etienne was a big, powerful, violent thug. Gaston could have been seriously injured or even killed. Yet he'd done it - for her. That certainly wasn't the act of a villain. Far from it.

She walked home slowly, trying to put the pieces together. She remembered how upset Gaston had looked when she told him she wouldn't marry him. At the time, she had been too hurt and distraught herself to consider the implications of that. But now, it suddenly occurred to her that if he really _didn't _care at all about her...if he thought she wasn't good enough for him, and had offered to marry her solely out of a sense of obligation...then he should have been _relieved _at her refusal, shouldn't he? She was letting him off the hook, after all - releasing him of all obligation to her. He was now free to abandon her without guilt, and enjoy all the luscious beauties who would throw themselves at him.

But he _hadn't _looked relieved, she remembered. He'd looked devastated. He had pounded on her door for 20 minutes straight, calling her name, refusing to leave until she finally opened the door and told him in no uncertain terms that it was over.

She was suddenly overcome with doubt. Could she have misjudged him? But if so, why had he said such hurtful things to her - telling her of all the women he had wooed; admitting that he had targeted her deliberately because he thought she was ugly and desperate; bragging that with his handsome looks, he would now have countless beautiful girls swooning over him? He had sounded like an unfeeling cad, with no consideration toward her at all.

Still...his actions didn't match up with his words. Something just didn't add up.

All at once she knew that she _had_ to talk to him, right now. She needed to know the truth once and for all.

She turned and hurried to the inn where he had been staying. But when she got there, her heart sank. The peddler wagon that had been parked next to the inn for the past month was gone.

Hesitantly she knocked on the door. The innkeeper opened it.

"Excuse me," she said, a bit uncertainly. "I was just wondering if...if a certain man was staying here? A big man, about 6 foot 4, with black hair?"

The innkeeper shook his head. "Nope. Haven't seen anyone like that."

"Oh," she said, deflated. "Then...what about that peddler who was staying here? Is he still around?"

"The dwarf?" he said. "No, he cleared out a couple of days ago. He must have left late at night, though - I didn't see him go. I got up in the morning and all his stuff was gone, along with the wagon. Happens that way with peddlers sometimes; they have a long way to travel and want to get an early start. His room was paid up till the end of the month, so it didn't matter to me either way."

"Oh. Thank you," said Genevieve quietly, and walked slowly home.

With a cold, leaden feeling, she understood that she was never going to see him again. He had gone, and she had no way of ever contacting him. She didn't even know where he was. He had mentioned once that the village he'd grown up in was a long distance from Reillanne, but she had no idea where it was located. France was a big country, dotted with hundreds of these tiny, obscure villages.

She would never have the chance to talk to him, or to learn the truth of how he'd really felt about her. He was gone forever.

And she would spend the rest of her life haunted by the possibility that she had made a terrible mistake.


	15. An Unexpected Encounter

CHAPTER 15

In the days that followed, what struck Gaston most about the village wasn't how much it had changed, but how much it hadn't. During his absence, most of the people his age had gotten married and had babies; several new houses had been built; a few of the old-timers had died. But aside from that, the village seemed exactly the same as he had left it. There was the baker with his tray like always, the same old bread and rolls to sell. Life went on, every day like the one before.

The village was the same...but Gaston wasn't. He had assumed that once he was back home, his old life restored, he would quickly forget Genevieve. But instead, the opposite had occurred.

With each day that passed, he seemed to miss her more, an ache inside that wouldn't go away. Everything reminded him of her, and how much he wished she were here with him. Galloping at top speed on his stallion, Tristan, he suddenly recalled the last time he'd ridden a horse - that last day with Genevieve, the day he'd realized that he loved her. A wave of grief swept over him, taking all the pleasure out of the ride. Hunting in the forest and bringing down an enormous deer, he couldn't help but think how much more it would mean to have her beside him to share in his triumph, and how much he had once looked forward to bringing her the venison she loved so much.

Each night when he came home, he was struck afresh by the contrast between his own house and Genevieve's. His house was large, but strictly the home of a bachelor: the furniture was left over from his parents, and the only decorations were Gaston's hunting trophies. In the past, he had never thought much about his surroundings as long as he had a comfortable bed to sleep in, and he had always assumed that when he married, his future wife would take charge of ordering new furniture and decorating the place - that was the kind of thing women liked to do. In the meantime, the place was fine as it was, as far as he was concerned.

But now, when he returned to the empty house, he felt a pang, remembering how much he had loved being in Genevieve's little cottage. Her cheery yellow kitchen was always filled with the delicious aroma of baking, there was always a vase of colorful fresh flowers on the table, and he could hear the reassuring sound of her humming as she sat and sewed in the rocking chair, or rolled out pastry dough in the kitchen. In contrast, his large house in Molyneaux seemed too dark, too silent, too empty.

If she _had _married him and come back with him, he knew exactly what she would have done: scrubbed down the house from top to bottom, insisted that he give the rooms a fresh coat of paint, planted a garden of flowers, and started sewing bright curtains and tableclothes and bedspreads. Soon the house would have been as attractive and welcoming as her own. Her old dog would have taken up his usual spot in front of the fireplace. Then in time, there would have been children - six or seven of them - and Gaston would have brought home a couple of puppies for them. And before you knew it, the once-silent house would be filled with noise and laughter and family. It would have been a real home.

He knew he should just go ahead and marry one of the local girls - any one of them would be thrilled to be asked. Then he'd have someone to cook and clean for him, and he could have the large family he'd wanted. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. The idea of spending his whole life with one of those boring, shallow chatterboxes - pretty or not - revolted him. He missed _her:_ the restfulness he'd felt in her company, like coming home after a stormy journey; the pleasure he had horseback riding and fishing and playing cards with her; their long, easy conversations, filled with laughter. In some way he couldn't articulate, she had completed him, filled an emptiness inside that he had never realized was there. With all his soul, he longed to have her back.

But he had learned the bitter lesson that - contrary to what he had always believed - he could not have everything he wanted. It tore him apart to know that he could never be with her again, but he struggled to accept it. He was not going to repeat the same mistake he had made with Belle, forcing himself on a girl who didn't want him.

One day, two weeks after his return, he was riding through the woods, thinking gloomily about it all, not paying attention to where he was going. Suddenly Tristan stopped.

Distracted, Gaston looked up. He dismounted and looked around, trying to get his bearings. A few yards away, he saw a huge wrought iron gate. On the other side of the gate was a long bridge spanning a deep chasm.

He groaned as he realized where he'd ended up. This was the entrance to the grounds of the castle where Belle lived with her prince.

It was the very last place he wanted to be. Aside from stirring up painful memories, he knew it was dangerous for him to be here. When the Beast's spell had been broken, Gaston had been disconcerted to discover that the monster he had captured and tormented was in reality a prince. Fearful of being put to death for threatening a member of the royal family, Gaston had shamelessly begged for his life. The prince had graciously pardoned him, but with the warning that he was not to come near him or Belle again. Under the circumstances, lurking right outside the castle gate was probably not the wisest move.

He was about to leave when he heard a horrified gasp. He turned. At the sight of the woman in front of him, he froze in his tracks.

It was Belle.

o o o o o o o o

Belle stared at Gaston in shock.

When Gaston had first been transformed by the Enchantress, Belle had watched in horror. Like her husband, she had no interest in revenge, and certainly did not wish for anyone to suffer, not even Gaston. If it had been up to her, she would never have chosen such a fate for him. But it was not her choice to make.

Yet at the same time, she could not help feeling relieved to know that this dangerous, evil man had been rendered harmless and could no longer threaten the people she loved. She had lived happily for the past five years with her adoring husband, and then their two children, feeling safe and secure.

But now, like a nightmare come to life, here he stood in front of her - the man who had vowed to possess her at all costs. He looked exactly as he had before, as though the past five years had never happened. She shuddered, remembering how he had tortured the Beast just to punish her, how he had smirked as he offered her his cruel, impossible choice: marry him, or watch her beloved die.

To see him so unexpectedly right in front of her home sent a chill through her. She knew all too well that he was not a forgiving person, and that he pursued revenge with a cold-hearted ruthlessness that filled her with dread.

For his part, Gaston was likewise at a loss for words. Once, a lifetime ago, he had wanted this girl more than anything in the world. Then he had hated her and blamed her for ruining his life. And now...? He didn't know _what _he felt.

He covered his confusion with a courtly bow. "Good afternoon, your highness," he said, remembering that she was a princess now. He took a step toward her.

Belle instinctively took a step backward, eyeing him warily.

Gaston stopped short. She was afraid of him, he realized. There was a time when that would have pleased him. Now it just made him feel ashamed.

_This _was the great Gaston's major achievement, he thought: to have harassed an innocent girl to the point that, five years later, she was spooked at the mere sight of him. _Some hero, _he thought in disgust.

"It's all right," he told her reassuringly.

"Is it?" Belle asked cautiously, uncertain whether to believe him. He wasn't acting threatening, she was relieved to see. She recalled that the Enchantress had said he would have to change his ways in order to break the spell. She wanted to believe it was true. But she was unsure, conflicted. She couldn't help remembering all the terrible, inhuman things he had done.

"What's wrong?" he asked, seeing her hesitation.

She stared at him in disbelief. "What's _wrong?"_ she repeated. "You chained up the man I love, tortured him in front of me, and threatened to _kill_ him if I didn't marry you! Or have you forgotten?"

Gaston shifted guiltily. He couldn't blame her for her reaction. To him, the Beast had been merely an obstacle standing in the way of Gaston getting what he wanted. But to Belle, he had been the person she loved most in the world.

Gaston tried to imagine how he would feel if someone hurt Genevieve like that. Instantly he knew that he would kill anyone who dared lay a finger on her. He was lucky Belle hadn't immediately summoned her guards to arrest him, he thought.

He looked at her, this woman who had had such a drastic impact on his life. In the past he had viewed her as a prize that was rightfully his, a trophy like the animal heads on his wall. But now he saw her as a person. A person who had done nothing wrong, other than love someone who wasn't him. It wasn't a crime, although he had once viewed it as one.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he said. "For everything."

She was startled. It was the last thing she had ever expected to hear from him. Gaston _never _apologized.

She looked at him searchingly. Now that she was over the initial shock, she could see that he seemed different. He didn't have that self-satisfied smirk that she had always despised, or the menacing air of violent rage just barely held in check. And there was a sadness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

She wouldn't have believed that someone as malevolent as Gaston could ever change...but then, on that awful night she had found her poor father locked in a dungeon, would she ever have dreamed that the monstrous Beast who had imprisoned him could change?

Everyone deserved a chance at forgiveness, she thought.

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Gaston," she said gently. "I appreciate you saying that." He nodded, feeling relieved.

There was a moment of silence. Then, in a warmer tone, Belle said, "So, you broke the spell. Congratulations." She had a kind heart, and since he had apologized, she wanted to show she bore no hard feelings.

"Thanks," said Gaston.

"So...who is she?" Belle asked curiously.

"Who?" asked Gaston.

"The _girl!" _said Belle. "The one who broke the spell. Do I know her?"

"No," he said, looking away. He didn't want to talk about it. "She lived far away."

"Oh," said Belle, interested. "So, she came back with you to Molyneaux? Does she like it here?"

"No. She didn't come with me," he said shortly. "It didn't work out."

Belle's smile vanished. She frowned, puzzled. "Didn't work out? How is that possible?"

Gaston shrugged, and retreated behind his usual bravado. "I know, it's hard to believe that any girl would turn down all this, isn't it?" he said flippantly, gesturing at his magnificent physique.

"But I don't understand," said Belle in confusion. "Only true love could break that spell. She _had _to love you, if you changed back."

Gaston wavered. He had not told anyone about Genevieve, and had not planned to. For the past two weeks, he had put on a brave face, trying not to think about her, bragging and showing off as he always had, and pretending that everything was back to normal. No one in the village had noticed anything wrong.

But Belle was looking at him with such warmth and kindness. Suddenly he couldn't hold it back anymore. His facade came crashing down, and the words spilled out of him. "It was all my fault," he said miserably. "She did love me, but she doesn't anymore. I ruined it. She's gone, and I'll never see her again. But I miss her so much, Belle."

Belle was surprised by his sudden outburst of emotion. He looked so forlorn, her heart went out to him. "What happened?" she asked sympathetically.

He sighed. "She said she loved me, and she would marry me. But then when I changed back, she was upset," he told her. "So I tried to explain it to her. But somehow, I said everything wrong. The more I talked, the more upset she got. And then she said she never wanted to see me again."

Belle could believe it. She remembered the incredibly tactless and off-putting way Gaston had proposed to her, believing all the while that he was being irresistibly charming. She could only imagine what he had said to this poor girl in his efforts to win her over.

But...he did love her. That much was obvious to Belle. He looked utterly heartbroken. And the girl must have loved him too, since he had transformed back to his true self. Belle felt a wave of sympathy for both of them. Love was so much more complicated in real life than in her fairy tales.

"Listen to me, Gaston," she said gently. "Her love for you was powerful enough to break a magic spell. Love like that doesn't just suddenly disappear. I'm sure she still has feelings for you."

His heart quickened. Was there a chance to win her back after all? "Do you think so?" he asked hopefully.

Belle nodded. "She's probably just having a hard time adjusting to the idea that you're not who she thought you were." She shook her head with a rueful smile. "I know what that's like. To fall in love with someone, exactly as he is, and then see him suddenly transform into a completely different person...it's a terrible shock, believe me. It takes some getting used to."

"What did your prince do about it?" Gaston wanted to know.

Belle thought about it. "He just made me see that he was still the same person inside - only his appearance had changed. And I think that's what you need to do. Go talk to her. Tell her you know it was a big shock for her when you changed, but reassure her that you're still the same man she fell in love with - you only _look_ different. Tell her that your feelings for her are still the same, and you still love her, and that won't ever change."

Gaston nodded, trying to memorize every word she said. It sounded good, the way she said it. He didn't want to blow it this time.

He started to get excited. "I should get her a present, too," he said eagerly. "Maybe jewelry, or flowers...no, wait, I'll go hunting and get a deer for her! She said she likes venison--"

"No, Gaston," Belle interrupted, smiling. "Don't worry about all that. Just _talk _to her. More importantly: _listen _to her." She knew all too well that listening to others was not Gaston's strong point. "Ask her how she feels, why she's upset. And really listen to what she tells you. Then you'll know how to make it right."

Gaston remembered that when he had changed back, he hadn't seen at first that Genevieve wasn't happy. He _still _wasn't sure exactly what had upset her so much. Belle was right, he realized. He would have to pay more attention.

"I'll do it!" Gaston said. He began to feel enthusiastic and hopeful for the first time in weeks. Everything Belle said made perfect sense. He _would_ get her back after all! He began to pace eagerly, his mind racing. "You're right, Belle. It can't fail! I'll talk to her, and I'll tell her everything you said, and then she'll love me again, just like before! And she'll come back here with me, and we'll get married, and everything will be perfect!" His eyes were shining with excitement.

Belle bit her lip worriedly. She put her hand on his arm. "Gaston...I can't _guarantee _how she'll react," she warned him gently. "People aren't always predictable, especially when it comes to love. You should definitely talk to her. But after that, if she _still _insists that she doesn't want to see you...well, then you do have to respect her wishes and leave her alone. You can't force her."

Gaston felt his heart sink at the thought. Belle was right, he realized. Genevieve could still say no. It might all be for nothing.

"But I do think you should try to talk to her first, before you give up hope," Belle added encouragingly. "Happily ever after doesn't just happen by itself, Gaston - you have to work at it. And it's not always easy."

"All right," he said, determined. "I'll try." He looked at her gratefully. She was much nicer than he had ever realized, he thought. "Thanks, Belle." He mounted his horse and turned back toward the village with a wave.

"Good luck!" Belle called, watching him go. She smiled as she went back through the gate to the castle, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.


	16. Reconciliation

CHAPTER 16

Gaston thundered down the road on Tristan. He was almost at Reillanne now. He had ridden the horse hard for five days straight, impatient to see Genevieve as soon as possible. But now that he was almost there, he was suddenly nervous.

He mentally rehearsed everything he would say, all the explanations Belle had laid out so reasonably. This was the most important thing he would ever do in his life, and it had to be perfect. _I know it was a big shock for you, seeing me suddenly change into a different person. It must have been upsetting. But it's only my appearance that changed. I'm still the exact same person inside. My feelings for you haven't changed. I still love you. And I know you must feel the same, because you were able to break the spell, so---_

He realized suddenly that he was here. At her house. He dismounted and looked at the door, getting up his courage. It was now or never. He took a deep breath, and knocked.

She opened the door, and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Gaston immediately put his hand on the door so she couldn't close it. Talking quickly, he said, "I'm sorry, I know you don't want to see me, but I have to talk to you. It took me five days of travelling just to get here. Can I come in? Just for a few minutes?"

She nodded dumbly, still in shock at the sight of him. She stepped aside to let him in.

Gaston inwardly sighed with relief. At least she hadn't tried to slam the door in his face. He entered the house, but then just stood there, gazing at her. He knew he should launch into his pitch immediately, that he had only a few minutes to convince her. But for a moment, he couldn't speak. Just the sight of her, after thinking he would never see her again...

Genevieve stared back, trying to take in the unbelievable fact that he was actually _here, _right in front of her, when she had been certain he was gone forever. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he must hear it. He had travelled a long way to see her. Was there a chance...?

_No!, _she told herself almost desperately, trying to get a grip on herself. She reminded herself how he had used her, after wooing practically every girl in France to try to break the spell. It was foolish of her to be so glad to see him.

She could not allow herself to hope. Hope only led to heartbreak. She had to be strong and just listen calmly to whatever he had to say. It could be anything at all.

Oh, but the way he was looking at her... with such longing, like a starving man looking through a window at a banquet. It took her breath away. For the first time, she noticed that his eyes had not changed after the spell. He was tall and handsome and muscular, utterly unlike the dwarf she'd fallen in love with...but he had the same eyes. Gaston's eyes.

Gaston hastily tried to remember what he was supposed to say - all the good, sensible things Belle had told him, all the explanations he'd rehearsed. Every word had to be exactly right this time.

But seeing Genevieve, it all flew right out of his head. His mind was totally blank.

He felt a rush of panic. She was waiting for him to speak, and he couldn't remember _anything._ All he could do was just blurt out what he was feeling. But he knew, with a sinking heart, that it wouldn't be good enough. "Please don't be mad," he begged, the words rushing out. "I know you told me to leave you alone. And I tried, I really did. But Gen...God, I just miss you so _much._ All I can think about is you. I had to see you again."

She wanted so much to believe him, but she was filled with doubt. There were too many unanswered questions. "Gaston," she asked hesitantly, "if you feel that way....why did you say all those horrible things to me?"

"What horrible things?" He looked bewildered. He truly had no idea, she realized in astonishment.

"Well," she said slowly, hating to even say the words, "you said that you purposely courted me because you thought I was so ugly and desperate that I wouldn't turn you down." She looked up at him, and he could see the hurt in her soft grey eyes.

He had actually forgotten about that. It was so far from his current feelings about her. "Aww, Gen," he whispered, stricken at the thought that he had hurt her. He was worse than Etienne, he thought miserably. She knew Etienne was a bully - she _expected_ cruelty from him. But she had trusted Gaston to be kind to her. Instead, he had wounded her more deeply than Etienne ever could.

He wanted to lie, to deny that he'd ever had any such dishonorable intentions, but he knew she wouldn't believe him. He had to tell her the truth - even though he knew it would probably destroy any last shred of love she had left for him.

He sighed. "Gen, I'm so sorry. It was just...I tried for years and years to break the curse, and it seemed hopeless. No girls would talk to me. I thought I'd be stuck that way forever. By the time I met you, I was desperate. I would have done _anything _to change back. And then I saw you, and..."

He took a deep breath, hating to say it, but knowing he had to. "Yes. I wasn't a good person. I thought that looking the way you did, you might be so lonely and eager for a man that you'd accept _anyone,_ even a hideous dwarf. It was wrong of me. I'm sorry."

She nodded quickly, not looking at him. "Thank you for being honest with me," she said quietly. She sat down on the couch and looked down at her hands. "So it's true, then," she said desolately. "That whole month...you were just pretending to like me so I would break the spell."

He stared at her, horrified. "Is that what you think? That I was pretending all that time?"

She looked up sharply. "Isn't that what you said?"

"Oh, God, _no," _he said in dismay. "Why would I be here if I felt that way?" He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. "Listen to me. The first time I saw you, yes, I decided to court you because of the way you looked. But it was _only _the first time I saw you, I swear it. The next time we met - when I brought you the dresses, remember? That's when I started to get to know you, and I found out that you weren't at _all_ what I'd thought you were. You were the most incredible girl I'd ever met."

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I couldn't believe it. I mean, you're great at all the things girls do - you make beautiful dresses, and you're a wonderful cook. That dinner was delicious. But then, you also liked all the things I like!" His voice was full of wonder, as though it were an impossible phenomenon. "You liked horseback riding, and fishing, and hunting, and you beat me at poker - _no one _does that! I never knew there could _be_ a girl like you. I had such a great time that night. I couldn't wait to see you again."

She smiled at the memory. "I had a wonderful time too."

Gaston sat down on the couch next to her. He was silent a moment, thinking. "But it was more than that, too. The way you treated me..." He trailed off, struggling to put his feelings into words. It was hard for him; he was no poet. But he needed to make her understand. "All my life, everyone always told me how wonderful I was, because I was so strong and handsome and able to do incredible things. I thought it would always be likt that. But then the Enchantress cursed me. Suddenly I _wasn't_ special anymore. I was just a puny little dwarf, this ugly, pathetic _joke--"_

"You were _never_ a joke," she interrupted, looking at him seriously. "Never. You were always amazing, even as a dwarf. I saw it the first time I met you. You have a...a fire about you, an energy I've never seen in anyone else. I thought, 'This man can accomplish anything he sets his mind to. Nothing will hold him back.' You're an extraordinary person, no matter what you look like. Don't ever think otherwise."

He looked at her, touched by her words. "That's what makes you so special. Other people laughed at me. They just saw an ugly dwarf. But you...you were different, Gen. It was like you saw something in me that no one else could."

"I know what you mean," she said softly, her eyes on his face. He had had the same effect on her. Other men had mocked her or ignored her, but he had made her feel beautiful.

"And then, the hourglass broke. I thought that sealed the spell - that I was trapped as a dwarf forever," Gaston went on. "It was horrible. I thought I'd lost everything, that I'd never be strong or handsome or do anything great ever again. I felt like my life was over.

"But then, Genevieve...then I thought of you." He looked into her eyes. "You didn't know about the curse. You didn't know I was ever anything but a ridiculous dwarf - but you loved me, even though I was so little and ugly and weak. And when I thought of you, suddenly nothing else mattered. I felt like I could handle anything, as long as I had you."

"Oh, Gaston," she whispered, moved.

"When I lost you...I didn't know what to do," Gaston said sadly. "So I went back home. I thought I'd be fine, that everything would go back to normal. I was strong and handsome again, and I had my life back, and everyone told me how wonderful I was, just like before. But it's not the same, Gen. I'm miserable. Every morning I wake up, and the first thing I think is, 'Genevieve's not here.' It's the worst feeling in the world. It's like dying inside. Nothing means anything without you. And I realized that as much as I hated being a dwarf, I was happier then. Because you loved me."

Genevieve gently touched his cheek. "I feel the same way," she admitted. "These last few weeks have been terrible. I've missed you so much. It was like there was a big emptiness where you used to be."

"Really?" he said in surprise. He had thought she hated him, that she was glad to be rid of him.

Genevieve nodded. "Oh, Gaston, I'm so sorry," she said remorsefully. "If I knew you felt that way, I never would have told you to leave. I thought you didn't care about me at all."

Gaston looked puzzled. "But you knew all this before, Gen," he protested. "I told you when I changed back."

She was confused. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," he insisted. "Don't you remember? I told you all about how long and hard I had to search for you, how I tried to talk to so many girls over the years, but they all laughed at me because I was a dwarf. Out of all those girls, you were the only one special enough to see past my looks and love me for who I was inside. Remember?"

Slowly, realization dawned on her face. "_That's _what you were trying to say? When you were going on and on about all the hundreds and hundreds of other girls you wooed - that was your way of telling me I was _special?"_

"Well, of course," he said, looking puzzled. "What did you think?"

Despite herself, she started to laugh. She couldn't help it. Life with this man certainly was never going to be dull, she thought. "The way you said it this time sounded a lot better," she told him, smiling.

"It did?" He was thrilled. Maybe he was getting the hang of this after all. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Gen. I swear, I never meant to."

"I know you didn't," she said gently. She looked up at him apologetically. "I'm sorry too, Gaston. In my own way, I judged you on your looks too."

"What do you mean?" asked Gaston, puzzled.

She sighed. "I never told you this, but my father was handsome too. Not quite as handsome as you, but close. Women couldn't resist him. And he loved it. He didn't see any reason why he should give up other women, just because he was married. Everyone in town knew about it. He would often stay out all night, without even letting us know. My mother would sit by the window, waiting for him, looking so sad and alone. It hurt me to see it.

"And then he'd come breezing in the next morning, as though nothing had happened," she went on bitterly. "He'd always have flowers or candy for my mother, as though that made everything all right. And he'd always have some weak excuse about where he'd been - his horse threw a shoe, or he had to help out a friend. He knew she didn't believe it, but it allowed them both to save face. She'd say, 'Poor dear, what a rough night you must have had,' and make him breakfast. I know it broke her heart, but she never said anything. I think she was afraid he might leave her if she made a fuss. So she put up with it."

Genevieve looked into Gaston's eyes. "I always swore I'd never marry a man like that. But then, out of the blue, you changed. Suddenly you were this gorgeous hunk, even more handsome than my father. And it scared me. I guess I felt that a man that handsome couldn't be trusted. I'm sorry for thinking that way - it wasn't fair. Your looks don't dictate who you are, any more than mine do. It was hypocritical of me."

Gaston frowned slightly at the unfamiliar word. It must mean saying one thing but then doing the opposite, he decided. "That's all right," he assured her.

"Although I must say, you didn't exactly _help_ matters by bragging about all the beautiful girls who would be swooning over you," Genevieve added sardonically, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you couldn't wait to take advantage of that. And then you said, 'But don't worry, I'm still going to marry _you._' Like you thought I was some charity case, not good enough for you, and I should be grateful that you were lowering yourself to marry me, even though you could do so much better."

Gaston was staring at her incredulously. "Did I really sound like that?"

"Well, yes," she said truthfully.

Gaston sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He had made such a mess of things. "You know, I just shouldn't be allowed to talk. Ever."

She smiled affectionately at him. "I wouldn't go _that_ far," she reassured him. "But tell me why you said those things. I'm guessing you didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Gaston ran his hand over his hair. "Of course not. No wonder you were so mad." He took a deep breath. "What I was _trying_ to say was that breaking the spell didn't change anything. Now that I'm tall and strong and handsome, suddenly all the girls want me again. But it doesn't matter. I still love _you, _and I want to marry you, no matter how many other girls swoon over me. No other girl can compare to you. _That's _what I meant."

"Ah," she said, looking pleased. "I like that _much_ better."

"Me too," he said, relieved that she wasn't mad anymore.

Genevieve was quiet a moment. "I can't believe I almost lost you over a silly misunderstanding. I was such a fool. I told you to leave, and you didn't even know _why_. If you hadn't come back..." She shivered at the thought of a lifetime without him.

"I _had_ to come back," he told her. "I couldn't stay away from you."

She leaned against him, grateful for his solid, reassuring presence. "I promise that if I'm ever upset with you again, I'll tell you right away, and explain exactly why. So you can defend yourself," she added, her eyes twinkling.

"All right," he said, grinning. "And I promise not to say anything stupid again." Then he looked worried. "Except...I don't usually _know _when I'm saying something stupid." He thought about it, his brow creasing. Then he brightened. "I know!" he said triumphantly. "If I ever say anything stupid again, you can _tell _me, and I'll stop. Deal?"

She laughed. "Deal."

"So everything's all right now?" he asked hopefully.

A shadow crossed her face. "Well...yes," she said slowly. But there was a trace of anxiety in her voice. Previously, Gaston wouldn't have noticed it, but he was focusing on her now, and picked up on it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

She hesitated. "Gaston, I know you're not like my father. You're a wonderful man, truly. But before you decide to marry me...well, just think, really _think, _about what you're giving up. You need to be absolutely sure."

"What I'm giving up?" Gaston repeated in confusion. "I don't get it."

"What you said about swooning girls...it's true, you know," Genevieve pointed out. "You can have any girl you want. Beautiful girls, girls who'll do anything for you. You really _are_ gorgeous. And I'm not." She said it as a simple statement of fact, without coyness or self-pity. She had never been one for self-delusion. She always faced the truth unflinchingly, and she wasn't about to stop now, when the course of her life depended on it.

"This is me, Gaston," she told him seriously. "I'm not under a spell. I'm never going to turn into a fairy princess. This is who I am. And if you marry me, I am the only woman you will ever have for the rest of your life. Think about that."

Gaston saw pain and sorrow in her eyes. Suddenly her voice was harsh, full of loathing, but it was not directed at him. "Every morning when you wake up, and every night when you come home, you're going to be looking at _this." _She gestured at her scarred cheek. "Be honest with yourself, Gaston, for both of our sakes. You're only human. After a while, all those beautiful girls are going to start looking pretty tempting, don't you think?"

"No." His voice was firm, absolutely certain. "No, they won't." He cupped her face in his strong hands, tilting her up to look at him. She always seemed so strong and confident, but now her grey eyes were as vulnerable as a child's. It occurred to him that she was afraid to believe, afraid of being hurt.

"Listen to me, Genevieve. You need to know this, and you need to remember it." Gently he stroked her scarred flesh with his finger. "This is beautiful." He kissed the scar tenderly. "It's part of you, and that _makes_ it beautiful. Because _you're _beautiful. Understand?"

She looked up at him, and her eyes filled with tears. Gaston was alarmed. He cursed himself. _Idiot! _He'd said the wrong thing. He always said the wrong thing. He'd made her cry. She deserved better than him. He took out his handkerchief and gently tried to dry her tears. "Genevieve, don't...I'm sorry. Please don't cry. Don't listen to anything I say, I'm just a big dope."

She took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "No, you're not." She smiled at him through her tears. "Sometimes you say just the right thing."

"Really?" he said, delighted.

"Really," she assured him.

He looked down into her face, his blue eyes serious. "It comes down to this, Gen: you're the only woman that I want. The only one I will _ever _want. Because out of all the women in the world, you are the best." He grinned. "And don't I deserve the best?" he pointed out.

She laughed. "Well, I can't argue with that logic!" she said, smiling. "All right. I guess I'll just have to accept the fact that I'm stuck marrying the handsomest, strongest, bravest, most wonderful man in the world," she teased. "It's a tough job, but someone has to do it."

He grinned, pleased at the compliment. "Well, don't _you_ deserve the best, too?"

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You're right! I do." She hugged him. "And that's you."

"Of course. Who else?" He stroked her hair.

She studied his face. "That really must have been some powerful spell. You look so different now."

"But good, right?" he said, preening.

She laughed. "_Very _good," she assured him. "In fact, I think I feel a swoon coming on right now."

He grinned. "I love you, Genevieve."

"I love you too," she said softly. He bent and kissed her. And at that moment, they were both thinking the same thought: _I'm the luckiest person in the world._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: That's ALMOST the end, but not quite! I'm just writing an epilogue about what happens when they go back to Molyneaux and Genevieve meets the villagers. So please stick with me for one last chapter, and then it really WILL be the end. Thanks!_


	17. Happily Ever After

_Author's note: Wow - 8,000 words! So much for a "short epilogue," huh? Sorry about that - I think that subconsciously, knowing this was the last chapter, I just didn't want to stop writing! I've had so much fun with this story, it was kind of hard to let go! So please forgive my self-indulgence in this final chapter._

CHAPTER 17

As the coach approached Molyneaux, Genevieve found herself growing more excited and more nervous.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. After much discussion, she and Gaston had decided to settle in Molyneaux. But that being the case, Genevieve wanted to hold the wedding itself in Reillanne, so her friends could share her joy and wish her well. Gaston had agreed, and Genevieve had spent a feverish two weeks designing and sewing a beautiful wedding gown for herself and a fine suit for Gaston, while making arrangements for the wedding itself.

Genevieve had confided the truth about Gaston to her closest friends, Nathalie, Janine, and Lucie. They had been flabbergasted at the incredible story, and Nathalie had even asked her point blank if she was sure she was feeling well. Genevieve had laughed. "I know, it sounds impossible! But wait till you meet him." And sure enough, when the wedding day arrived, there he was: the tallest, handsomest man they had ever seen, gazing at Genevieve with pride and love, and, Nathalie noticed, seemingly unable to keep his eyes and hands off her. He was constantly putting his arm around her, or patting her hand, or playing with her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was really his. Nathalie liked that. She could see that they were crazy about each other, and that he would treat her friend like a queen. Seeing Genevieve so ecstatically happy took some of the sting out of her departure, as did her promise to return to Reillanne every year for a visit.

Gaston had hired an elegant, comfortable coach for the ride back to Molyneaux. A groom rode on top to drive the coach's horses. Genevieve's clothes and sewing equipment were in trunks piled behind him. Their own horses, Fleur, Cerise, and Tristan, walked along behind, their reins tied to the coach, while Remy the basset hound rode inside with the newlyweds, curled up on the seat next to Genevieve.

That first evening, leaving Reillanne as a new bride, Genevieve felt as though she were living a dream. It had started to snow, and the woods around them were a wonderland of white swirling flakes. Gaston wrapped a fur blanket around the two of them to keep them warm. Genevieve rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She could hear his heart beating, steady and strong. She drifted off to sleep nestled against him, his powerful arms wrapped around her, feeling utterly safe, protected and loved. The snow fell softly outside the window as the coach travelled on through the night.

Gaston watched over her as she slept in his arms, so peaceful and trusting. It was still such a miracle to him that she was really his bride, after those terrible weeks of thinking he had lost her forever. Suddenly he felt that he wanted to do something for her - a surprise, something special that would show her just how much she meant to him. He thought about it for a long time as the coach rolled on. Then finally, he smiled, as the idea came to him. It was perfect. But it would have to wait till they got back to Molyneaux.

They stopped at an inn that was much more opulent than the ones usually found in small towns - it was a place where aristocrats stayed when they were traveling. Gaston knew of it from his years on the road, and had purposely chosen it. The coachman took the horses and dog to the stable while the newlyweds entered the inn.

Genevieve was delighted with their room, which was more luxurious than anything she'd ever seen: dark red velvet draperies on the window, a huge satin canopy bed, a soft thick carpet on the floor, and an enormous fireplace. "Oh, this is lovely!" she said, clapping her hands. She sat down on the bed and bounced a little, marvelling at its exceptional softness.

Gaston grinned, glad to see her pleasure. "Only the best for my girl," he promised, and went to start a fire in the fireplace.

Genevieve rolled onto her stomach and propped her head on her hands, watching him. It was strange, she thought: when he was a dwarf, she had not realized that he was under a spell, but now she wondered how she could have possibly missed it. His larger-than-life personality had never really seemed to fit comfortably in that shrunken form. Now that the spell was broken, she could see how much more truly "himself" he was, so much more natural and at ease in his own skin. She loved to watch him as he moved about, his muscles rippling, prowling around the room with the grace of a panther.

He saw her watching him and grinned, coming over to join her on the bed. "Happy, darling?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she said lovingly, gazing into his eyes.

He kissed her, tenderly at first, then with increasing urgency. Gently, he laid her down on the bed.

Genevieve had been a bit nervous about the idea of her wedding night, not knowing what to expect. But the desire in Gaston's eyes when he looked at her, the way he kissed her so hungrily, as if he couldn't get enough of her, his hands exploring her body, made her feel like the most desirable, alluring woman in the world. She found herself responding with equal passion, his touch awakening feelings in her she'd never known she had.

Gaston had expected her to be timid and uncertain, and at the beginning she was. But to his delight, she soon opened up to reveal an inner fire and passion that matched his own. He had thought he would need to be extra careful and gentle with her, but instead found that it was all he could do to keep up with her.

Afterwards, Genevieve lay back on the bed, looking up at him with a blissful expression. "That was...glorious," she said dreamily. "I wasn't expecting that. My friends just told me 'it hurts a little the first time, but then you get used to it.' They didn't make it sound very appealing."

Gaston grinned. "Well, your friends didn't have _me, _did they?" he bragged.

Genevieve threw a pillow at him. "Oh, how typical! Take all the credit, why don't you?" she teased. "There were _two_ of us in this bed, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I noticed, believe me," Gaston said, eyeing her curves appreciatively. "And you were _incredible_." He took her in his arms and kissed her neck.

"Ah, now _that's_ more like it," she told him, smiling and putting her arms around him.

It took them a week to reach Molyneaux, stopping each night in towns along the way. But now their journey was almost over. Genevieve was looking forward to seeing her new home, but also slightly apprehensive. She had spent her whole life in one small village. The idea of relocating to an entirely new place far away was a bit scary, to say the least. But Gaston had assured her that Molyneaux was just another tiny village, very similar to Reillanne. Hopefully it wouldn't be _too _difficult to adjust, she told herself.

They arrived at Molyneaux at 10:00 at night. In the darkness, the village was already asleep. Genevieve was filled with anticipation as they entered Gaston's house, excited to explore her new home. Gaston lit some kerosene lamps, and started a fire in the fireplace. "What do you think?" he asked, a bit anxiously.

Genevieve looked around. "I'm impressed!" she said, marvelling at the large sitting room, so much bigger than her own, with its tall windows. She imagined how airy and full of sunlight the room would be in the morning. The forest-green couch and chair were rather faded, though, she noticed, and the room could use a coat of paint. "Would you mind if I made a few changes, just to brighten things up a little?" she asked.

He smiled. "I was hoping you would!" he admitted. "I don't know anything about decorating. It's your home now, so you fix it up however you want. Buy new furniture, decorate however you want - money's no object." He paused. "Except...leave the trophies, okay?"

She laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't _dream _of touching your trophies!" she assured him. She toured the house, and her eyes widened at the sight of the huge kitchen, with a full-sized dining room table and an enormous fireplace big enough to roast an entire steer. "Wow. Guess I'll be doing a lot of cooking, huh?" she said, smiling. There was also a large master bedroom, three smaller bedrooms, a den with more of Gaston's trophies, and a full basement.

"This is wonderful," she said sincerely, hugging him. "Lots of room! We'll have to get started soon filling it up with children, hmmm?" He grinned, thrilled at the idea.

The next morning, Genevieve was surprised to see Gaston already up and dressed when she awoke. "Where are you going?"

"Oh...I need to go out for a couple of hours. I just have a few things I need to do," he said mysteriously. "You go ahead and unpack while I'm gone."

She tilted her head, looking at him curiously. She guessed that he was planning some kind of surprise for her. "Well, all right. But hurry back - I'll miss you."

But to her disappointment, he was gone most of the day. Genevieve filled the hours by unpacking, cleaning, and planning out in her mind how she would redecorate. At 5:00, Gaston returned. "What took you so long?" Genevieve asked.

"I'm so sorry - I didn't mean to leave you alone all day. But I have a surprise for you - actually, _two _surprises," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "But first, you have to get dressed up, in the best clothes you have."

Genevieve was intrigued. "All right," she said, smiling. She went upstairs to change. Half an hour later, she descended the stairs. Gaston looked up, and let out a low whistle. She was wearing a dove-grey satin evening gown that seemed to shine like silver in the light. It was tasteful and elegant, yet clung to her body in a way that showed off her figure. Her sandy-brown hair, which usually hung straight to her shoulders, had been swept up into a chignon, with soft tendrils lying loosely on either side of her face.

"You look beautiful," said Gaston sincerely, and she blushed.

Gaston was wearing the outfit he had worn to propose to Belle. Genevieve thought he looked very dashing, and told him so. He kissed her. "Come on, let's go."

It was almost 6:00 now, and darkness had already fallen on this December evening. The town looked deserted. To Genevieve's surprise, Gaston brought her to the marketplace, which was empty at this hour, the shops all shuttered tight. Gaston stopped in front of an empty storefront. "This is it," he said proudly.

Genevieve was confused. "What? I don't see anything."

Gaston took out a key and opened the door. He gestured her inside and lit a kerosene lamp. The shop was dusty - apparently it hadn't been occupied in a while - and empty, except for a large worktable, a dressmaker's dummy, and some scraps of cloth littering the floor. "This shop belonged to Madame Reinard," Gaston explained. "She was the village seamstress for...well, forever, it seems like. She used to make dresses for my mother when I was a little boy. I found out that she passed away six months ago, and the shop has been empty ever since. So I bought it for you! I thought you could be the new seamstress here. You'd have so much more room for your sewing things here, instead of having to work out of the house, and it would be a place that's all yours."

Abruptly he stopped short, looking worried. It suddenly occurred to him that his gesture could be misinterpreted. "Only if you _want _to, of course," he added hastily. "If you want to stay home, that's fine too. Believe me, I can take care of both of us easily - I never _expected_ my wife to work. It's just that you seemed to really love making dresses, so I thought--"

"You thought right," she interrupted, smiling. "I _do _love making dresses. I would hate to give it up. This is the best present you could ever have given me. Thank you so much!" She kissed him, then eagerly began looking around the shop. "Oh, this is so wonderful!" she said excitedly. "I have to start cleaning the place up, and then I'll go back and get my sewing things, and start arranging everything--"

Gaston laughed. "Not _now! _You can do all that tomorrow. We're going to be late."

"Late? For what?" asked Genevieve.

"You didn't think I asked you to get all dressed up just to look at an empty shop, did you?" Gaston said, beaming. "That's the second surprise. I arranged a huge party for the entire village at the town hall to announce our marriage!"

Genevieve stared at him. "The entire village?" she repeated weakly, her heart sinking.

She should have seen this coming, she realized in dismay. Gaston _always_ had to do everything in the biggest, flashiest way possible. He thrived on being the center of attention. But she didn't. Too much attention made her self-conscious. She had hoped to meet her new neighbors gradually, in non-intimidating ways: inviting a couple of Gaston's friends over for dinner, greeting the local merchants when she went shopping, finding out if there was a ladies' sewing circle or other group she could join...small steps to getting acclimated and becoming accepted by the community.

The discovery that on her very first day here, she was to be put on display and stared at by an entire village of strangers made her feel faint. She looked up at Gaston, about to protest.

But Gaston was already talking, excited about his surprise for her. "I kept thinking about that village dance you told me about, where all the boys ignored you and you didn't get to dance at all. And it made me angry," he explained. "You deserve so much better than that. So I decided to give you your very _own_ village dance - all for you! You'll be the guest of honor, the queen of the ball, and everyone will pay attention to you. And this time, you'll dance _every _dance...with the handsomest man in town, of course," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

Genevieve was touched. He wanted to take away one of her sad memories and replace it with something magical. It was the most romantic thing she had ever heard. She hugged him. "You really are the dearest man in the world, you know that?" she said affectionately. "I don't deserve you."

"Who does?" he teased. He took her arm gallantly. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," she said resolutely. She was still dreading the idea of facing so many strangers at once, but now she was determined not to show it - not after he had gone to so much effort to give her an unforgettable evening. She would get through it, somehow.

They reached the town hall and entered. Gaston immediately strode up to the front of the room, where a small stage was set up. But Genevieve followed more slowly, looking around and taking everything in. The big room had been festively decorated with bright ribbons and colorful flowers. There were several long tables covered with platters of roasted venison and pheasant - courtesy of Gaston's morning hunt - along with bowls of punch, kegs of beer and ale, trays of frosted pastries, and a big decorated cake. In a corner, several men held musical instruments. There seemed to be hundreds of people in the room, all milling about and talking.

Genevieve saw three pretty blonde girls staring at her. They looked identical, and she realized they must be triplets.

She heard them whispering to each other as she passed. "Oh, my God, look at that girl!" one whispered. "What's wrong with her face?"

"I don't know, but I feel sorry for her," said the second. "Imagine having to go around looking like that?" She shuddered. "It must be awful for her, poor thing."

"I wonder what she's doing with Gaston?" mused the third. "They came in together."

"Maybe he's taking up some kind of charity collection for her," suggested the first. "That must be his big announcement."

Genevieve felt her face redden in humiliation as she hurried to catch up to Gaston. _It's not like you haven't encountered this before, _she told herself. She'd gotten the same condescending, pitying treatment from Melisande and several others back home. _Well, you DID hope Molyneaux would be just like Reillanne, _she reminded herself ruefully.

But at least at home, people were _used _to the way she looked, she thought. She'd lived there her entire life. Aside from Etienne, who went out of his way to be nasty to her, and people like Melisande, most of the townspeople in Reillanne didn't really notice her scar anymore. They'd seen her around town for so many years that she was no longer a novelty. But here in Molyneaux, she was a stranger, and people were staring at her as though she were a freak. It made her uncomfortable, to say the least.

But she reminded herself that this was only her first day in Molyneaux. Surely within a few weeks, the people here would grow accustomed to her appearance and accept her as part of the community, as those in Reillanne did. She hoped so.

Gaston smiled and extended his hand to her as she approached him. She took it and climbed next to him on the stage, feeling incredibly nervous and self-conscious. But Gaston was in his element, proudly surveying the room like a king about to address his loyal subjects. He cleared his throat. Immediately all conversation ceased and all eyes turned to him expectantly, curious about the "surprise announcement" he had promised. Gaston grinned, enjoying his audience's rapt attention.

"Thank you all for coming here tonight," he began. "As you know, I have a very important announcement to make." He paused a moment to let the suspense build. Then he turned to Genevieve. "I'm proud to present Genevieve - my wife. We were married last week in Reillanne."

There was a collective gasp. The whole town stared in disbelief, shocked to learn that Gaston had gotten married without anyone knowing, and equally shocked to discover that his wife was a total stranger, someone they'd never seen before. And she was _disfigured_ - certainly not the unparalleled beauty everyone had always assumed Gaston would marry. The villagers were completely stunned.

Enjoying the dramatic impact his announcement had caused, Gaston put his arms around Genevieve, dipped her romantically, and kissed her. Out of the corner of her eye, Genevieve saw the blonde triplets gaping, their mouths open in shock. They looked green with envy. Despite her self-consciousness, Genevieve couldn't suppress a sneaking sense of satisfaction at that. _Still feel sorry for me now, girls? _she thought.

Gaston straightened up, his arm still around Genevieve's shoulder. "I told you all about the terrible curse I was under for five years," he continued. "But I _didn't _tell you how I finally escaped the curse. It was all due to Genevieve. She saved me. You see, the only way I could break the spell was to find true love. I had to search all over France for the one girl who could love me even as an ugly dwarf. And Genevieve was the one, the special girl who saw past my appearance and loved me for myself. She's the most amazing girl I've ever met," he said, looking at her affectionately. Genevieve smiled back at him.

"And now, I have another announcement to make," Gaston declared. "I'm proud to tell you that Genevieve is going to be the village's new seamstress. She's taking over the shop that used to be run by Mme. Reinard. And you're all so lucky to have her here! Genevieve is the finest seamstress in all of France. As you know, I spent years travelling all over the country, and I never saw gowns as lovely as hers anywhere. Her designs are the most beautiful you'll ever see - they're fit for royalty. Why, her dresses are even worn by the aristicratic ladies of Paris!"

That last boast wasn't strictly true - Genevieve had copied Parisian dresses, and quite well, but her own creations had never been sold in that august city. But Gaston was on a roll. Genevieve was embarrassed by his lavish praise; she wasn't normally one to blow her own horn. But she also couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm. She knew that Gaston was proud of her and thought she was wonderful - so, naturally, he had to brag to everyone about how great she was. That was just Gaston. Asking him not to brag was like asking a fish not to swim.

"So, please give Genevieve a big round of applause, and welcome her to Molyneaux," Gaston finished. The villagers clapped dutifully. Gaston jumped down from the stage, and lifted Genevieve down beside him. Everyone went back to eating and mingling.

LeFou came bounding up to them. "Wow, Gaston, that was some surprise! I can't believe you got married and no one knew!" LeFou was amazed that Gaston had chosen such an unattractive girl for a wife...but then again, he'd been equally surprised when Gaston had first told him he wanted to marry Belle, an oddball bookworm with a crazy father. But it was Gaston's decision, and LeFou certainly wasn't about to question it. He turned to Genevieve. "Congratulations! Gaston's a great guy. You're really lucky."

"I know I am," she said, smiling.

LeFou looked at her curiously. "So let me ask you...why do you look like that?" he asked, gesturing at her scar.

Next to her, Genevieve felt Gaston's muscles tense, like a guard dog's when its master is threatened. Quickly she put her hand on his arm. She could tell LeFou's question came from innocent curiosity, not malice. And she much preferred an honest, direct question to catty gossip or snide remarks.

"I'm glad you asked me that," she said warmly. "Gaston asked me the very same thing the first time he met me. Didn't you, dear?" she added sweetly.

Gaston relaxed, looking sheepish. "I guess I did."

"I was in a fire as a child, and I got burned. It left scars," Genevieve told LeFou simply. "That's all."

"Oh," said LeFou, accepting this. "Well, welcome to Molyneaux! I hope you like it here."

"I'm sure I will," she said, relieved. She hoped meeting the rest of the villagers would go as smoothly as that.

Pierre came over to the couple. "Congratulations, Gaston!" he said.

"Thanks," said Gaston proudly.

"Hey, listen, I was looking for you earlier today, but I couldn't find you," Pierre continued. "I was buying a new horse, and wanted your advice. He's an Andalusian gelding - big one, almost 18 hands. Looks to have a steady gait. The guy said he's a great hunter, but I'd love for you to look at him and tell me what you think. He's right outside."

"Of course," said Gaston, always happy for an opportunity to show off his expertise. He looked questioningly at Genevieve. "Will you be all right here for a few minutes?"

"Certainly," said Genevieve, smiling. "You go ahead." Gaston squeezed her arm affectionately and went outside with Pierre, talking about horses.

Genevieve felt a bit awkward, standing there alone, so she picked up a pastry from the table and started nibbling on it, just for something to do.

Madame Bavardage, the town gossip, eyed the disfigured girl critically from across the room. Why on earth Gaston had found it necessary to traipse all the way to the other side of France for a bride when there were so many eligible, lovely girls right here in Molyneaux, she would never know. _And such a homely girl, too,_ she thought with a sniff.

But then, Gaston had never shown much sense when it came to women, she thought. She remembered that years ago he had wanted to marry Belle - such an odd girl, always reading, her head so lost in the clouds that she often didn't hear when someone spoke to her. Mme. Bavardage recalled the time she had been busy washing clothes in the fountain when, to her surprise, she'd suddenly heard singing. She'd looked up to see Belle, reading a book and singing out loud to the sheep! She was certainly the strangest girl Mme. Bavardage had ever met.

But at least Belle had been pretty. Mme. Bavardage had to concede that point. This new girl of Gaston's didn't even have _that _going for her. Mme. Bavardage headed over to the girl, determined to get the lowdown, which she would of course dutifully report back to her friends.

"Let me offer you my congratulations," Mme. Bavardage said, approaching the girl. "I'm Mme. Bavardage. Genevieve, is it?"

"Yes, that's right," said Genevieve with a warm smile. "I'm glad to meet you."

"Likewise," said Mme. Bavardage briskly. "Well, you must be very pleased, young lady. Gaston is quite a catch."

Genevieve wished people would stop telling her that. "Yes, he's a wonderful man," she replied.

"I _had_ hoped at one time that he might marry my Danielle," Mme Bavardage confided. "She's such a lovely girl, and the most wonderful cook. He would have been very lucky to have _her_ for a wife, I can tell you."

Genevieve didn't know how to react to this. Was she supposed to apologize? she wondered. "She sounds very nice," she said awkwardly. "Um...did she find someone else, or is she still looking for a beau?"

Mme. Bavardage puffed out her chest. "My Danielle never had a shortage of beaux, believe me!" she said proudly. "She was always highly sought after. She ended up marrying young Gilles, the cobbler."

"A cobbler!" said Genevieve enthusiastically. "That's a fine profession. It takes a lot of skill and craftsmanship to be a cobbler - he must be very talented."

"Well, yes, he is," agreed Mme. Bavardage, pleased.

"And so practical, too," Genevieve added diplomatically. "I mean, everyone needs shoes, don't they? I'm sure he's a wonderful provider for your daughter. You must be so happy for her."

"He does do very well for himself, it's true," said Mme. Bavardage proudly. "And what about you? Gaston said you're a seamstress, I believe?"

"Yes, that's right," said Genevieve.

"It will be good to have a seamstress in the village again. We haven't had one since poor Mme. Reinard passed," said Mme. Bavardage with a sigh. "Although I doubt you'll be up to _her _standard - she was excellent. Her dresses were beyond compare."

"They must have been. I wish I could have met her," said Genevieve truthfully. "With all her experience, I'm sure she could have taught me a lot."

Mme. Bavardage looked at Genevieve a bit more kindly. She found herself starting to take to the girl. "Well, you'll learn," she said encouragingly. "How long have you been a seamstress?"

"I've been making my own clothes as long as I can remember," said Genevieve. "But I started sewing for a living when I was 16."

"A very sensible occupation for a young girl," said Mme. Bavardage approvingly. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Thank you. I hope so," Genevieve said sincerely.

Mme. Bavardage hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I hope you don't mind my asking, my dear, but...what happened to your face?"

Sighing inwardly, Genevieve wondered if she should just make a sign and hang it around her neck. Or post a large billboard in the center of town. But then again, Mme. Bavardage was clearly eager to spread gossip - once she knew, the whole town would know, and then Genevieve wouldn't have to answer the question as often, she thought. "I fell in the fire when I was two years old, and got burned," Genevieve said. "It left scars. I know it looks terrible, but there's nothing I can do about it, so I've just learned to live with it," she added, to try to avoid any exclamations of pity.

"Very wise of you. No point crying over spilled milk, I always say," said Mme. Bavardage. "And you've already landed a husband, so no worries there, eh?"

"I suppose," said Genevieve, a bit uncomfortably.

A few of the other housewives called to Mme. Bavardage from across the room. She waved to them. "Well, I'd better go. It was lovely to meet you, my dear," she said warmly.

"Thank you," said Genevieve, a bit surprised by her suddenly friendly tone. _I must have passed the inspection, _she thought, feeling relieved.

Mme. Bavardage hurried over to her friends, Mme. Jacasserie and Mme. Causeur. "So? What's she like?" they asked eagerly.

"She seems like a very nice, sensible girl," said Mme. Bavardage approvingly. "Friendly enough, and doesn't put on airs." It was her highest form of praise - she detested people who acted superior or above their station.

"Well, that's good to hear," said Mme. Jacasserie. "I'll be glad to have a seamstress in town again - my eyes aren't what they used to be, and mending clothes has been difficult these past few months." She looked thoughtful. "I've been needing a new dress...maybe I'll stop by her shop tomorrow."

"I'll come with you!" said Mme. Causeur, eager to check out the new girl herself.

Meanwhile, in a far corner of the room, several of Gaston's friends were lounging around, discussing the big news. "It's a joke, I'm telling you - a big put-on," insisted Claude. "There's _no way _Gaston would marry a dog like that! I'm betting he staged this whole thing and hired that girl to pretend to be his wife. Mark my words, after the party he'll fess up and have a big laugh over how he fooled everyone."

"I don't think so," said LeFou doubtfully. "He acts like he really loves her. And Gaston's not that good an actor."

"He _did _say she broke the magic spell for him," the baker pointed out. "The poor guy was stuck as a dwarf for five whole years, until she came along. Maybe he married her just because he was grateful."

"Hell of a price to pay, though," said Francois with a grimace. "To have to spend his whole life looking at that ugly mug? Especially for a guy like Gaston - he could have had any girl he wanted! He always said he'd marry the most beautiful girl in town, remember?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason," said Claude. "You know Gaston - he never does _anything _he doesn't want to do." He thought about it. "Maybe she's really hot in bed!" he suggested.

The men guffawed at the thought. "But he'd have to keep his eyes closed the whole time!" joked Francois.

Suddenly there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he felt himself being spun around. He looked up to see Gaston towering over him, glowering. "Take it back," Gaston snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Francois gulped. Ever since his return, Gaston had been uncharacteristically tolerant and even-tempered. But now, Francois was reminded why no one ever dared cross him. "Sorry, Gaston!" he said quickly. "No offense. We were just talking."

"Just talking about _my wife," _Gaston pointed out, still angry. He turned his head to glare at Claude. "You too," he said threateningly.

Claude held out his hands placatingly. "I'm really sorry. We're _all_ sorry, right, guys?" The men all nodded quickly, murmuring apologies. "We didn't mean anything by it, Gaston, honest. I'm sure she's a great girl."

"She _is _a great girl," said Gaston firmly, letting go of Francois. "She's the _best. _And I want her to be happy here. That means you all treat her with respect. Understand?"

"Of course!" "You got it!" they all chimed in hastily.

_"I_ think she's very nice," LeFou piped up.

Gaston looked around at them all, making sure they got the message, then relaxed. Suddenly he grinned broadly, like the sun coming out after a storm. "Come on, guys, this is a party! Drinks are on me. It's not every day the town hero gets married." He sauntered over to one of the kegs and handed out glasses of beer to all the men.

Claude raised his glass. "To Gaston and his new bride!"

"Hear, hear!" the other men said, toasting. Then LeFou started up a chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," and the others joined in boisterously.

On the other side of the room, Genevieve saw the three blonde triplets approaching her. "Hello," she said, smiling.

"Hi. I'm Bambi. That's Bunny, and that's Bubbles," said Bambi.

"We just wanted to say congratulations on your wedding," Bunny said in a syrupy-sweet voice. "We're all _so _happy for you!" But Genevieve could tell from their expressions that they were anything but.

"Thank you," she replied, pretending not to notice anything wrong.

"I must say, it was such a surprise to find out that Gaston married _you!"_ said Bambi. "I mean, considering that you're...well, let's just say you're not his usual _type_." Her sisters giggled.

Genevieve made her eyes wide. "Really?" she said innocently. "In what way?" She knew they'd never have the guts to actually call her "ugly" to her face.

Bambi looked miffed that she hadn't taken the hint. "Well, you _know," _she said. "Given that Gaston is so incredibly _handsome."_

"Yes, he _is _handsome, isn't he?" Genevieve agreed brightly.

"So it was a shock to find out he'd married someone like _you," _said Bubbles.

"Someone like me?" Genevieve repeated in the same innocent tone. She laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm sorry, I'm just not following you. What ever do you mean?" She tried to keep her expression bland and innocuous, but it was hard not to laugh at the triplets' mounting frustration at having their veiled insults unheeded.

Looking annoyed, Bunny changed the subject. "Let me ask you - confidentially, between us girls," she said. "How did you know Gaston was under a spell?"

Genevieve was confused by the question. "How did I know?" she repeated, bewildered. "He suddenly transformed into a completely different person. It was kind of hard to miss."

Bunny shook her head impatiently. "No, I mean _before_ that! When he was a dwarf." It still rankled the triplets that they'd seen Gaston on his very first day as a dwarf, but had laughed at him, thus throwing away the only chance they'd ever had with him. If only they had kissed him when he'd asked them to, surely he would have married one of them! It killed them to know that this homely girl had been clever enough to break the spell and win the prize, instead of them. "How did you figure out that falling in love with him would make him become handsome?" Bunny persisted.

"Ididn't," said Genevieve. "It was a real shock when it happened, believe me."

The triplets looked at each other skeptically. "Come _on,"_ said Bubbles. "We all saw Gaston when he was a dwarf. You can't tell me you fell head over heels in love with him looking like _that! _You _must_ have known."

Genevieve was beginning to get angry. Although they didn't seem to realize it, they were now insulting _Gaston_ - implying that he was nothing without his handsome looks. Genevieve wasn't going to let them get away with that. "Of course I fell in love with him!" she said firmly. "Gaston is the dearest, most wonderful man I've ever known. His looks have nothing to do with it. Even as a dwarf, it was obvious. After all, the spell only changed his appearance - inside, he was still the same person."

Then in the sweetest voice possible, she added, "But I'm sure you girls _must _have realized it too, when you saw him as a dwarf. I've only just met you, but already I can see what kind, caring, sensitive girls you are. I know you would _never _do anything as shallow as judging someone purely by their appearance."

The triplets stared at her, not knowing what to say. They certainly weren't going to admit that yes, they _were _exactly that shallow. Worse, they couldn't very well insult Genevieve when she'd just complimented them. They looked at each other helplessly. "Well, yes, of course we realized it," mumbled Bunny.

At that moment, they were interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired girl, who exclaimed, "Genevieve! THERE you are! I've been looking all over for you!" She took Genevieve's arm in a chummy way and hurried her away, calling over her shoulder to the triplets, "I have to talk to Genevieve for a minute, you don't mind, do you?"

At the punch table, the girl let go of her arm. Genevieve looked at her in confusion. "Please forgive me - have we met?"

The girl giggled. "No. Sorry about that! I just figured you could use an excuse to get away from those jealous hussies."

"Oh. Thank you!" Genevieve said gratefully.

"Any time. Although to be honest, you didn't really need my help," the girl said admiringly. "You did a great job handling them all by yourself."

"Unfortunately, I've had a lot of practice with people like that," sighed Genevieve.

The girl smiled. "I'm Amelie. Welcome to Molyneaux."

"Thanks," said Genevieve, glad to meet someone friendly. "What's the story with those girls, anyway?"

"Oh, they're just jealous," Amelie said dismissively. "It's so ridiculous - Gaston had to get married to _someone_ eventually. And they're all married anyway! They all accepted proposals last year, while Gaston was still missing. You'd think they'd just let it _go _already. It's not like they were anything special; practically every girl in town was smitten with Gaston, after all."

"Including you?" asked Genevieve curiously.

Amelie shook her head, smiling. "No, I have the distinction of being one of the very few women in town that _didn't_ have designs on your husband."

"That's a relief. I'm glad _someone _wasn't after him!" said Genevieve. She smiled. "So, how did you manage to withstand Gaston's myriad charms? He's completely irresistible, you know - he told me so himself."

Amelie giggled. She had always assumed Gaston would marry some fawning beauty who worshipped the ground he walked on. She was delighted to see that he'd picked a girl with a sense of humor. "Well, he _is _very handsome, of course!" she said. "But personally, I just found him a little...overwhelming. Not that he was ever interested in me anyway! But I was always very shy around boys; I never knew what to say to them. And Gaston was so big, and so _loud_, and so famous...I was a bit intimidated by him, to tell you the truth."

"He certainly does make his presence known," said Genevieve with a smile.

"But I can see that he really loves _you,"_ added Amelie. "The way he looks at you...it's really sweet to see. He obviously adores you."

"He's really a great guy," said Genevieve fondly. "How about you? Are you married?"

Amelie nodded. "Yes, I'm married to LeFou. He's over there," she added, nodding in her husband's direction.

"Oh, Gaston's friend! I've met him," said Genevieve. "He seems very nice. How did you two meet?"

"Well, I always used to see him and Gaston around the village," said Amelie. "Of course, everyone was always fawning over Gaston. No one paid any attention to LeFou, he was just in Gaston's shadow. But I started to notice him. I thought he was cute, in a teddy bear kind of way, you know? And I saw how he was with Gaston - always doing things for him, trying to cheer him up and things like that. And the more I watched him, the more I started to realize that he's the kind of person who..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "He's not close to many people. But when he _does _get attached to someone, he'll do anything for them. He's totally devoted and loyal to people he cares about. I really admired that. And I started to think, 'The girl that he falls in love with is going to be very lucky.'"

"Makes sense," said Genevieve, smiling.

"Then Gaston disappeared, and the whole village went into mourning," Amelie went on. "Everyone was in shock. Gaston was such a fixture here - how could he be gone? I would see LeFou wandering around almost in a daze, like he didn't know what to do with himself. I felt bad for him. So one day I made a batch of cookies, and brought them to him, and told him how sorry I was about his friend, and how awful he must be feeling. You could have knocked him over with a feather! He was totally shocked that anyone would be thinking about _him_ at a time like that. It meant a lot to him. And then we started talking, and we got along well, and he asked permission to court me. We were married three months later."

"That's lovely," said Genevieve. "He's lucky to have you."

"Thanks. But I feel lucky too. We've been very happy. And we have the sweetest little boy - you'll have to meet him! His name is Denis," said Amelie.

"Oh, that's wonderful! I love children," said Genevieve. "We're hoping to have six or seven ourselves."

Amelie smiled. "I have to tell you: I'm really glad Gaston married you, for totally selfish reasons," she confided. "He's LeFou's best friend, so we see a lot of him, now that he's back. I knew when Gaston eventually got married, we'd be getting together with him and his wife often. Which means that I'd have to try to get along with her, whoever she was. I'm just glad he picked someone nice!"

Genevieve smiled. "I'm glad too. It's good to meet someone friendly here. I have to admit I feel very nervous, being the outsider in a place where everyone has known each other forever."

"Oh, don't worry," Amelie reassured her. "People will see you as a novelty for a few days, but then before you know it, it'll be like you were always here. You'll see."

At that moment, a girl with shoulder-length, butterscotch-colored hair in corkscrew curls rushed over, clearly upset. "Oh, Amelie, _look!" _she said tearfully, holding out the long skirt of her light blue dress. There was a huge, jagged rip in the skirt. "We were dancing, and my skirt snagged on a nail. I'll have to go home!" She sniffled. "The biggest party of the year, and I have to _miss_ it!"

"Oh, Monique, that's a shame," said Amelie sympathetically, looking at the skirt. "Do you have another dress you can change into? Maybe you can go home and come back."

"No, this is my only party dress," Monique said sadly.

"Can I see that?" asked Genevieve. She examined the rip. "I can fix it, don't worry." She rummaged in her reticule. She always carried a needle and two spools of thread with her, one black and one white. She held out the white thread. "I'm sorry I don't have blue. But your dress is very light - I don't think it will show up too much, especially when you're dancing."

"Can you really fix it?" asked Monique breathlessly. "That would be so wonderful!"

"It's no problem," Genevieve assured her. "Here, sit down." Monique sat in a chair. Genevieve sat next to her, lifted the skirt, and quickly and expertly stitched it up in 10 minutes. She examined it critically. "Well, it's not exactly my best work. But it'll get you through the party. I don't think anyone will notice, as long as they're not looking too closely." She smiled at Monique. "If you bring it to my shop tomorrow, I'll fix it up properly, with the right color thread too. You'll never know it was ever ripped."

Monique impulsively hugged her, much to Genevieve's surprise. "Thank you SO much! You're an _angel!"_ She stood up. "I have to tell Jacques we don't need to go home after all!" She started to hurry away, then abruptly turned around and rushed back. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so rude!" she said apologetically to Genevieve. "Congratulations! I should have said that before. I'm Monique. I'm really glad to meet you."

"I'm glad to meet you too," Genevieve said, smiling.

"Thanks again! I'll see you at your shop tomorrow!" said Monique with a wave, hurrying to find her husband.

"That was very kind of you. She would have hated to miss the rest of the party," said Amelie to Genevieve appreciatively. "Oh, and listen, do you and Gaston want to come over to our house for dinner tomorrow tonight?"

"I'd like that," said Genevieve, pleased.

On the other side of the room, Gaston looked over and saw Genevieve with Amelie. She was smiling and talking animatedly, having a good time. As he watched, she laughed at something her friend had said. When she laughed, she looked so happy, so radiant. To Gaston, she outshone every other girl in the room.

He crossed the floor, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her. "May I have this dance, fair lady?" he asked charmingly.

She smiled and tilted her head back, looking up at him. "Why of course, good sir knight."

Gaston took her hand and led her over to the group of musicians, who had taken a break. He tossed them a few gold coins. "Play a waltz," he said.

"You got it, Gaston," they replied, picking up their instruments.

At the first strains of music, the villagers looked up. They smiled to see Gaston dramatically sweeping his new bride onto the dance floor with a flourish. He was a good dancer, his natural grace and coordination serving him well as they twirled around the floor. The villagers formed a circle around the couple, smiling and clapping their hands, just as they would have if this were the actual wedding.

Genevieve blushed pink, but to her surprise, found that she was actually enjoying the attention for once. She was surrounded by smiling faces, and the man she loved was holding her in his arms. How could she be other than blissfully happy?

_Hmmm, maybe this party wasn't such a bad idea after all, _she had to admit.

Gaston was glad to see her having fun, even with all the eyes of the villagers upon them. She _should _enjoy the attention, he thought - she deserved it. She was wonderful, and the whole world should know it. He would have shouted it from the rooftops if he could.

Other couples joined them on the floor, and soon the room was filled with dancing pairs, whirling about the room, with Gaston and Genevieve in the center.

The floor they danced on was made of simple wooden boards, not polished marble; the ragtag band of musicians played harmonicas, tambourinesand accordions, not harps and violins. But as Genevieve twirled in Gaston's arms, she felt as glamorous and magical as any fairytale princess.

She looked up at him, smiling at her with so much love in his blue eyes. He was no cultured, aristocratic Prince Charming, but he was hers, and he was all she wanted.

"Having a good time?" he asked, holding her close.

"Oh, yes," she breathed. "I know I'm going to like it here." She closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, and knew that she was home.

THE END

_Author's Note: I just want to say thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the reviews! It was such an incredible thrill for me to get so many reviews! And it was especially wonderful to get so many long, detailed ones with lots of comments - thanks to Serengeti Dawn, Rena, MarieChristine81, Chef13, Letylyf, Beautygirl, BookRose, Silverwolfie, Ruiner of Worlds, Maleficent Angel, ReluctantDragon, Jocanda, Sparky, LumBabsFan, and anyone else I forgot! It truly means so much to me to know that people liked this story. I also have to give a shout-out to my dear friend Ilene Froom, who read my chapters before I posted them, and always knew EXACTLY the right change to make or detail to add to make them so much better. She's absolutely brilliant. Thanks, Ilene!_


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